


Before the Day is Done

by crossingwinter



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Character Study, F/M, Gen, Pre-Canon, in which the author feels very uncomfortable about westerosi patriarchy brain but portrays it anyway, unrepentant Freudian moments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-17
Updated: 2016-04-06
Packaged: 2018-05-27 09:08:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 31,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6278401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crossingwinter/pseuds/crossingwinter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Elaena outlived her siblings and led a tumultuous life once freed from the Maidenvault.  (<em>The World of Ice and Fire</em>)</p>
</blockquote>A study of Elaena Targaryen’s life.
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Пока я жива](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12229752) by [badweather](https://archiveofourown.org/users/badweather/pseuds/badweather), [Vemoro](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vemoro/pseuds/Vemoro)



> Many thanks to Ariel2Me and madaboutasoiaf for helping me beta, in addition to usual beta work from StormDancer.

“Elaena, not the black again,” her mother complained when she came out into the solar for breakfast. Elaena ignored her, and sat down next to Rhaena, who was wearing a gown of silvery blue that made her hair shiny like moonlight. “It makes you look so pale and thin,” her mother complained.

“I like it,” Elaena said, shrugging. She dropped the egg on the table next to her plate with a hefty thunk, and Daeron snorted.

“Father isn’t dead yet,” Baelor intoned, looking down his long nose, “It’s disrespectful that you mourn him already.”

“I’m not mourning him,” Elaena spooned porridge onto her plate, then reached for a clementine.

“She’s _honoring_ him,” Daena said, reaching around Rhaena to rub Elaena’s hair. “Father _likes_ wearing black.”

Elaena smiled at Daena and Daena smiled back.

Her mother heaved a sigh. “It makes you look too thin. You’ve not enough meat on your bones as is. Must you show it so…starkly?”

Elaena shrugged. She knew she wasn’t pretty. Her mother had complained about it for years now. It had hurt, at least at first, but Daena had said that women were more than just beauty.

“I was born to ride a dragon,” Daena had hissed to her one night while they’d been drifting off to sleep. “It’s a pity they’re all dead. I’d be the best dragonrider of them all.” Elaena had nodded vigorously (Rhaena had already been asleep) and had dreamed of riding on dragonback with Daena. She dreamed and willed, but the egg she’d been given at birth didn’t hatch, so the dreams stayed dreams. Daena was the best rider that Elaena knew on horseback, and an archer besides. Everyone said that Daena was pretty, but they said it under their breath, lest she hear them and remind them that her looks were the last thing that they should be paying attention to.

 _Daena’s the pretty one,_ Elaena had thought that night, listening to her sisters snores while they shared a bed. _Rhaena’s the good one….and I’m….I’m…._ the baby. The youngest. The skinniest. _I’ll figure it out later_.

“Is father feeling better at all today, mother?” Rhaena asked, and just like that no one was paying attention to Elaena anymore. She looked at her spoon, halfway into her porridge, but didn’t feel hungry anymore.

“I’m afraid not, sweetling,” mother said gently, looking around the table at the five of them. “I fear your father is not long for this world. The maesters say he is worse by far than they feared.”

“Will we be able to visit him?” Baelor asked.

“If Maester Perwin thinks it safe. I’ll not have you growing ill.”

“We’re young, and strong,” Daeron said, sounding serious. Elaena looked at him. He was fourteen and much older than her, and taller as well, nearly a man grown. There was another Daeron in the family too, her cousin Aegon’s son, who was named after Daeron, but he wasn’t in the room with them, as their Uncle Viserys’ family was not dining with them right now. He was only a few years younger than Elaena. He was practically a baby though, only four. Elaena had just turned seven. “We’ll not sicken, mother.”

“Please, mother,” Rhaena begged, now that she knew she wasn’t the only one who wished it. “Please.”

Elaena bit her lip. She did not know that she wanted to see father. She was frightened—he was dying. What did it look like to look upon a dying man. _Am I a coward?_ She looked over at Daena. It had been Daena’s idea to wear black because father liked to wear black. Daena’s violet eyes were bright. Daena wanted to visit father as well.

So Elaena squared her shoulders, and said, “There’s no reason not to let us in to see him. Whatever ill he has will surely have spread throughout the castle on the maester’s robes, won’t it?”

“That’s not how it works,” Baelor made an annoyed sound, rolling his eyes at her as if it were some stupid babyish idea. Baelor was only a few years younger than Daeron, and sometimes he read to Elaena before she went to sleep. But sometimes he tried to make her feel stupid. “The gods will illness upon sinners.”

“Father is not a sinner,” Elaena growled, and looked at mother, still not entirely sure if she wanted her mother to acquiesce or not.

Daenaera Velaryon sighed, and dabbed at her lips with her napkin before looking at her assembled children. “Very well,” she said, “but for the love of the Mother above, Elaena, don’t wear black to your father’s deathbed.”

* * *

“I don’t  _want_ to marry Baelor,” Daena growled.

“Daeron commanded it,” Rhaena said gently

“Daeron’s head is full of war and he’s a fool. I should marry _him,_ not Baelor.”

“Daeron’s promised to the Sealord’s daughter,” Rhaena reminded her. Daena did not like to be reminded of this. The Sealord of Braavos’ silly daughter for Daeron hardly seemed fair, even if it meant that the Sealord of Braavos would help put down pirates in the Stepstones.

“What does it matter if you marry Baelor? It’s not like he’ll even consummate the marriage,” Aegon said. He was flopped on a setee, pretending to read a book, but they all knew very well that Aegon didn’t like books. Aegon didn’t seem to like anything at all—except women. Even Elaena the baby could see that. “He probably wouldn’t know what to do with a naked bride.” Then, he let out a barking laugh. “He’d go and try and find guidance in his _Seven Pointed Star_ , but there’s nothing there on bedding a woman, is there? You have to find different books for that.”

Daena twisted in her seat and threw an apple at him, which bounced off the back of his golden head as he yelped.

“It’s not funny,” she grumbled at him.

“Disappointed Baelor’s not going to give you the wedding night you dreamed of, cousin?” Aegon laughed.

“Shut up,” Daena snapped.

“And if I don’t?” Aegon demanded, sitting up slightly. He picked the apple up off the ground, and polished it against his tunic before taking a bite. It was juicy and squelched and bits of it dribbled down his chin.

It took Daena a moment to respond, and as she said, “I’ll make you regret it,” Rhaena piped in again. “Surely you could write to Daeron—surely it’s a mistake. There are so many others Baelor could wed that aren’t you. I’m sure Baelor would prefer it as well.”

“Why, surely he must see the potential in your teats, dear cousin Rhaena,” Aegon laughed. “Surely our brave Young Dragon will bear that in mind when— _ow!”_ Daena had smacked him—hard—across the chest.

Rhaena crossed her arms over her chest. Her breasts were growing, and were already nearly as big as Daena’s. She did not like that, Elaena knew. “I do not want to be tempting,” she had told Elaena one day after bathing. “Women with breasts that are large…Baelor says they are tempting.”

“What would Baelor know of it? Baelor’s not tempted by anyone,” Elaena had asked as she’d helped comb her sister’s hair. But Rhaena had not answered. She’d just blushed, and now she was blushing again.

“Leave her be, Aegon,” Daena said hotly.

“What? She’s growing them, isn’t she? Or is she going to be a Septa? Her and my sweet wife—the _pair_ of them.” His tone grew dark. Elaena glanced at Rhaena. Rhaena loved their cousin Naerys dearly.

“If you keep talking about it like that, you’ll drive her to it. Look at her, she’s embarrassed.”

“Forgive me sweet cousin,” Aegon said, inclining his head to Rhaena, who turned away, arms still crossed across her chest. “Though of course,” he said, looking back at Daena, “You’re just annoyed that I’m paying more attention to Rhaena’s breasts than yours.”

Daena’s cheeks went pink, but she hid it behind a hissed, “You are incorrigible. And in front of Elaena. She’s so young.”

Elaena, never one to betray Daena, sat down on the floor and began to roll her dragon egg across it as a cat might bat at a ball. Aegon laughed.

“Silly little Elaena. But yes, you are quite right. She’s still just a girl, after all.”

He sounded dismissive.

Elaena didn’t like that. So she pretended it was an accident when the heavy egg rolled over his foot.

* * *

 

“You look pretty,” Rhaena said. Daena did. She was shrouded in silver and gold, with little dragons embroidered on her gown. But Daena did not smile, so Elaena did not either.

“It won’t be so bad, darling,” their mother said to her, placing a comb in Daena’s hair. “He is your brother, after all. You know him well. He’s a good soul.”

Daena glowered at her. “Daeron knows I didn’t want to, though.”

“Daeron’s in Dorne with many more things on his mind than your marriage, my love,” mother said.

Daena pouted, and their mother pinched her cheeks. “Now now. It’s your wedding day. Smile, at least.”

Daena smiled, but it was not a real smile.

“Go on, girls,” their mother said. “Go to the sept.”

“Do you think she’s going to shout at Daena?” Elaena asked as Rhaena took her hand and led her from the room.

“Probably,” Rhaena said. “She is being unreasonable. Baelor’s not that bad.”

He wasn’t. That much was true. A bit snooty, and the sort to make her remember that she was just a silly little girl, but he wasn’t cruel. Their Uncle Viserys told stories about some of his mother’s brothers—the ones who had stolen her throne—and _they_ seemed far crueler than Baelor did.

Baelor smiled when they reached the sept, and he pressed a kiss to each of their foreheads. Rhaena dipped into a curtsey, and Elaena followed suit, because Rhaena was always right about this sort of thing. Then they went to stand near Uncle Viserys and his family. Daeron tugged on his mother’s sleeve, and they traded spots so that he could stand next to Elaena.

“It’s exciting, isn’t it?” he said to her.

“Yes,” Elaena agreed. She thought of Daena’s bitter smile, and how Daeron was far away and father was dead. She could make Daeron feel stupid for not thinking of those things too. It might make her feel better that mother was shouting at Daena. But she looked at her little cousin, and his happy little smile. _I’ll not be Baelor_ , she thought, looking over at her brother. He was smiling pleasantly, and looked quite as handsome as Daena had looked in her wedding gown. So she took Daeron’s hand instead and held it in her own and waited for Daena to come, hoping that she’d be smiling for true now, but knowing she wouldn’t be.

* * *

 

Daeron was dead. He died in Dorne, and Baelor put on the crown that their father had worn for his coronation and was anointed by the high septon. Daena wept for Daeron and wished to be left alone, not wanting any guests to come and see her in her sadness. Little had they expected how seriously Baelor would take those words.

Elaena could hear the shouting from across the bailey, echoing through off the walls of the yard. Daena was screaming, loudly, cursing in a very unladylike way. “You wouldn’t _dare_ do this if mother was still alive, you _coward_ , you _cruel, stupid, madman!_ ”

She’d seen them dragging Daena across the bailey when she’d been playing in the godswood with Daeron. He’d gone off to see what was going on, but Elaena…there was something about the way that Daena was screaming. It scared her, and she wasn’t ever scared.

She’d seen them take Rhaena into the tower, had watched as Rhaena had walked towards it, her head bowed, holding her _Many Pointed Star_ to her chest as she went. Elaena did not understand why she did not fight. For all that Rhaena had spent the past few months reading through her tomes, dressing more and more modestly, and when Baelor had likened her to the Maiden’s purity, she’d blushing modestly, why would she walk so calmly when Daena fought and struggled and screamed?

Elaena was glad to be wearing black. If she was wearing black, she would be harder to find. She pinned her braid tightly to her head so that it wouldn’t hang loose and get caught on something, and she had found a black cloak somewhere in the guards’ storage rooms. _I must be bold, like Daena_ , she thought, steeling herself. Daena would want her to run, if Daena couldn’t.

 _I’ll do it,_ Elaena thought. _I’ll stay free. I’ll find…_ find who? Uncle Viserys was in the castle now and he hadn’t tried to stop Baelor putting them away, nor had either of his sons. If he had, there’d be more activity. Aegon was the type who could always stir up trouble. He liked to. She’d seen her cousin Aemon walking alongside Rhaena with the men that brought her to the tower. And Daeron was dead…

The thought made her sad. She’d not known him well, he’d been so much older than she, and the prince of Dragonstone besides. But he’d never have locked her and her sisters in a tower.

No one did that—for all that the maesters taught her of some of the cruelties of her house, she’d not yet heard of a king who locked his sisters away for nothing more than being girls. _Perhaps he truly is mad_. She did not want to believe it.

She shook the thought from her head. Where could she go? The city was big, she was sure she could find a place to hide, but she wasn’t so foolish as to think she could survive in the city. She could sell some of her jewelry—but to fetch it would be to go back to her chambers and she was sure that Baelor had guards waiting for her there.

 _Perhaps I could board a ship._ Her father had cousins who lived in Blackwater Bay—his half-sister Baela and her husband Lord Alyn of the Driftmark…

She’d always wanted to sail the seas. Even if she wasn’t going far—even if she was only going to Driftmark. She’d be safe there, she was sure. Far away, and Baelor wouldn’t fetch her back, would he?

She heard Daena shouting out of the window. She didn’t want to leave Daena behind. She loved her sister dearly, and her sister protected her. _I’m not a little girl anymore_ , she thought. _I’m_ —

“There she is!” she heard a shout, and panic gripped her. She broke into a run, not sure where she was going, running as fast as she could. And she could run fast—but not fast enough. She was still only a little girl, and her legs were not long enough, and when she felt a hard grip on her arm, and a snap in her shoulder, she screamed, and tried to bite the hand loose before another one grabbed her as well.

 _At least I fought_ , she thought weepily as they dragged her to the tower. _At least I fought._

* * *

 

“You’re not _welcome_ here,” Daena hissed when Baelor came into the room.

“Sweet sister,” he said soundly, and he clasped his hands together. “I had hoped you would understand.”

“Understand? _Understand?_ ” Daena shrieked. She lunged for him, and Aemon stepped between them, grasping her by the wrist.

“Come now, cousin,” he said softly. “Don’t be rash.”

Daena spat.

“The Maiden has much to teach you in the ways of gentility, sister,” Baelor said.

“The Maiden has much to learn about the stupidity of men,” Daena shot back.

Elaena heard Rhaena gasp. “You must not speak that way, sister,” Rhaena said. Elaena glanced at her. She was wringing her hands.

Daena laughed. “Or what?” she demanded. “I shall be _imprisoned_?” She wrenched her hand free of Aemon’s grasp, though he stepped between her and Baelor.

“Please, Baelor,” Elaena said, and they all turned to look at her. She blinked furiously, trying to summon tears. It would be better if there were tears in her eyes, surely. “We shall be godly, please. Please let us out.”

Baelor crossed the room to her, their cousin Aemon shifting to keep himself between Daena and Baelor, and he rested his hand on Elaena’s head. “Sweet sister,” he said, and then, he crouched down so that their eyes were at the same height. “Sweet, dear Elaena. The Father must protect his children, guide them to rights. As this shall guide you.”

“You’re not my father,” Elaena said, her voice thick. She remembered her father, though she’d been a little girl when he’d died. He’d always been sad, but he’d smiled for her. “Father would never have locked us away. He wouldn’t have, Baelor.” She wiped her nose on her sleeve. Her mother would have berated her for it, but Baelor said nothing. She’d keep playing the baby, if it meant he’d listen to her, though she was eleven now, and not a little girl any longer.

“Our father would not have, that is true,” Baelor said gently, “But our father was not a godly man. Had he been, perhaps the dragons would not have died.”

“Would that a dragon had eaten you alive as it did our grandmother,” Daena snapped, and Elaena flinched as she saw Baelor close his eyes. He stood up slowly, and turned to face Daena.

“Your anger is uncomely, sister. For that reason alone I would have you meditate,” he said. “You are too governed by passions.”

“And you’re governed by your own lunacy,” Daena screeched. Baelor turned away from her and looked at Rhaena.

“Is there anything you need, sweet sister?” he asked her. “Are you comfortable?”

“I am, brother,” Rhaena said quietly, looking at her feet. Elaena looked at Daena.

“I shall pray for your peace,” Baelor said to them, looking at each.

“My peace is your death,” Daena spat. “I thought taking one’s own life was a grievous sin to the gods, brother?”

“Wishing the death of your kin is a sin as well, Daena,” Baelor said, sounding angry for the first time. He closed his eyes again, and murmured, “Father above, forgive me as I sink into temptation…” he backed away from her, then turned to the door and he left. Aemon glanced at them all.

“Were I you,” he said quietly to Daena, “I would do as he wishes. It will cause you less pain in the end.”

“Is that what Naerys would have you believe?” Daena demanded, and Aemon went pale. He glared at her, and marched away without a word.

“That was unfair,” Rhaena said to Daena, looking nervous even as she spoke.

“Suffering in silence has never been my way,” Daena said. She sounded weary. _She is not angry with Rhaena?_ Elaena wondered, _Though Rhaena does not reject Baelor or protest?_ She didn’t understand. She didn’t understand any of this. All she knew was that she was not going to be allowed to leave again—perhaps not ever, and all she wanted to do was cry. “Perhaps that makes me less godly. What does it matter? Our father wasn’t godly. Uncle Viserys and Aegon aren’t godly. The will of the gods is vital, tis true, but are they not there to guide us rather than to command?”

“We are their children,” Rhaena said. “A child obeys.”

Daena laughed. “Some children obey,” she said. “Some children strike out on their own and explore and govern themselves. And some question their parents. Or,” she glanced at Elaena and held open her arms and Elaena hurried to her, “their sisters, when they’ve no parents left to them.”

* * *

 

The tower was large from the outside and small on the inside. It was hardly even a tower at all, though Elaena had always called it “the tower” when she’d been playing in the bailey with Daeron as a child. Its windows were narrow—too narrow to slip out of, even for a skinny spit of a girl like herself—and it only had two floors, and they were only allowed on the second one. They each had a bedroom, and though some nights, Elaena slept in Daena’s room with her, or in Rhaena’s when Daena was moody. Below, sometimes, she could hear the talking of the guards who occupied the first floor. There was a door at the back of their chambers, but it was locked, and Elaena didn’t know what was on the other side of it.

At first, their visitors were frequent. Naerys would come to pray with Rhaena. Aegon and Aemon would look in, the former spending longer periods of time than the latter, and somehow, miraculously, making Daena laugh. Baelor stayed away, sensing that it was best not to impose his presence on Daena—“Wisdom I had not thought him capable of,” Daena had said.

But Naerys, Aegon, and Aemon came to visit her sisters, older, women grown. Daeron came to play with Elaena.

Her cousin spent a good deal of his time in the yards. Elaena could see him from her window, swinging a sword with the master-of-arms, having his grip corrected, learning to couch a lance beneath his arm. But more of his time was spent with the grand maester, studying. _He will be king one day,_ Elaena thought grimly. Baelor seemed to have no desire to marry or have sons of his own, and so the crown would pass to their uncle’s children one day. _Unless it passes to Daena._ It could happen, she supposed.

Daeron brought her books when he could, as many books as he could carry in his arms. The septas never did, and the maesters never came to them unless they were ill, but Daeron’s books kept Elaena’s mind alive on days when she had little and less to do. She’d never liked reading much before the tower. Better to run about after Daena, and imagine what would happen when her dragon egg hatched, if it hatched. But there was not enough room to run in the tower, so she was glad, for the first time in her life, of the dry dusty books and scrolls her cousin brought her.

“I’ll tell you what I learn from the grand maester, cousin,” Daeron promised as he deposited the books on her bed. “When you have finished them.” The books he brought—histories of battle, of the great houses, of the tales that all men knew were just songs, really—told her that there had been a council once to choose a king when there were too many Targaryen heirs. _It was this council which chose King Viserys I_ , the maester had written in spindly hand, _Whose reign was long and prosperous. Had his daughter Rhaenyra not brought war to the realm upon his death, the Kingdoms would still have a host of dragons and prosper from the legacy of Jaehaerys I._ Elaena frowned at that. Her grandmother had been the rightful queen—her father and uncle had said it over and over again, yet this Maester made it sound as though she were a grasping usurper. What would happen when Baelor died without a child? If her uncle Viserys truly believed his mother had been the rightful queen, surely that would mean Daena would be queen, didn’t it? _Daena will be queen,_ she promised herself. _Daena will be queen again, and we’ll be free of this tower._

Daeron promised to come and talk with her about the books, but she read them much more quickly than he had time for. _He probably has much to do all day_ , Elaena thought bitterly as she waited for him to come and visit—ever disappointed when it was Naerys being let in by the guards at the door and not her son.

So she read the books over and over again—everything from battle histories to accounts of Valyria of old. She played games with herself where she’d scratch out numbers on a scroll of parchment, seeing how many soldiers would need how much of the crown’s gold to eat, what the cost of their boots would be.

“You’re turning into a maester,” Daena said of it one day. Elaena remembered it well, for Daena rarely spoke anymore. It was too easy to fall into silence. There was nothing new to say—apart from the things that Elaena learned in the books Daeron brought her, but Daena did not wish to read them quite so much as Elaena did, and Rhaena poured over her _Seven Pointed Star_ again and again.

It was quiet, and Elaena didn’t like it. She did her best to fill the quiet, but reading didn’t make a sound.

* * *

“What are you doing, Elaena?” Daena called from the other room, but Elaena ignored her.

She had just turned twelve, and it had been near six months in the tower with her sisters.  Her brother called it their Court of Beauty, and called her hair her crown. Everyone had always loved Elaena’s hair—more pale than her siblings’ with a gold streak that ran through it. But if Baelor thought it her crowning glory, her crown of beauty…

 _I do not want a crown of beauty,_ Elaena thought, her hand trembling as she held the knife.  She’d never been allowed a knife before.  Only a dinner knife, whose edge was not nearly as sharp as this.  She’d snuck it off Aegon when he’d come to visit them three days before, and she was staring at it now, taking deep breaths.  It was sharp, and made of Valyrian steel, with a hilt of dragonbone.

“Elaena?” She heard Daena get up from her seat in the solar where she’d been reading.  It was a calm day for Daena.  Aegon had visited again today (looking for his knife, he’d said, though Elaena noticed that he’d spent little time in search of it) and whenever Aegon visited, Daena was a little calmer.  The door creaked behind her and Elaena hid the knife beneath her table as she saw her sister in the glass.

She was not quick enough.

“What’ve you got there?” Daena asked, crossing the room and sitting down in a chair next to her.  Her hands found Elaena’s.  Her calluses were fading, and her hands were soft again.  She complained of it endlessly.  “Is that Aegon’s dagger?”  She held it up then looked at Elaena, her eyebrows raised, her eyes worried.  “What were you doing with that, little sister?”

“I…” Elaena stammered, flushing.  She didn’t want Daena to be angry with her, Daena, who’d said endlessly that she wished that she had a streak in her hair like Elaena.

Daena frowned and put the knife on the table and pulled out Elaena’s hands.  She examined her wrists carefully, then looked at her sister curiously.  “Elaena,” she prompted gently.  Very gently.  Much more gently than ever Daena was.  Rhaena was the gentle one.  And Baelor said that Elaena should take after Rhaena and be as pious as she, not take to Daena.

“I was going to cut my hair,” Elaena said through a tight throat.  “Cut it all off.  Perhaps if…If I don’t have this crown of beauty, Baelor…he’ll…he’ll see I’ll not tempt…”

Anger flashed through Daena’s eyes.  “I hate him,” she hissed.  “Elaena,” she whispered, and kissed her sister’s cheek.  “He is wrong to have us here.   _Wrong_.  His fear of temptation is madness.”

“I know,” Elaena said quickly.  She did know that.  She did.  “I was only going to try.  Try to get out.  I know it’s not my fault.  I know he’s mad.”  Even if once he’d read to her before bed, her elder brother with a sweet voice and a generous heart.  She felt hot and cold all over again.  “I do not wish to spend my life in this tower.  So I thought I’d try.”  It sounded so pitiful when she said it aloud.  It had felt so much more clever in her head.  She was the clever one.  Why had her brother reduced her to something pitiful and stupid?

Daena took a deep breath and looked at her sister’s reflection.  There’s a wistful expression on her face.  “I’d cut my hair too if I thought it’d get me out, but I have the body of a woman,” she said darkly.  She looked back at Elaena.  “I suppose you wear it in a braid mostly anyway.  Let me do it so you don’t hurt yourself.”

Daena took up Aegon’s knife and held Elaena’s braid.  Elaena gripped the table, and a moment later she heard the slicing of the knife, and her head was suddenly lighter.

* * *

Baelor sent her hair back, still in its braid, and Elaena tried not to burst into tears.  _I was stupid in the end_ , she thought, looking at it.  _It was stupid._ She was still only a girl, and too skinny and too ugly to be a temptation to anyone.  _Who would be tempted by a little girl anyway?_ She had wondered as she’d written her note to her brother.  But none of that mattered.  It didn't matter what Elaena wanted, only what Baelor did.  Elaena hated it.

“It was clever,” Daena said dully. Daena had grown dull once again. It was as if she knew now there was no reasoning with him at all, as though there was no way out of the tower—not even leaping from a window to end her life for the windows were too narrow. “Pity Baelor’s too foolish to understand how clever you are.” She went to the window and looked down in the practice yard and stared out the window longingly for a few minutes.

“I hate him,” Daena said.

“Hate is a strong word,” Rhaena said. “He is trying to keep us safe.”

Daena rounded on her. “I’m his sister, not his slave. Safe from what? Are we not protected by the best knights in the kingdoms?”

Rhaena looked down at her embroidery. “No woman is safe,” she said quietly. “The gods have made men lustful, and such is their nature to be a danger to us.”

“The only man who’s ever been a danger to me is Baelor, and I can assure you, sister, he’s not once touched me with lust.”

“He seeks—”

“To control me.”

“As is his right as your king.”

Daena only laughed. “Sweet Rhaena, I love you dearly, but I swear you’ve less in your head than Elaena. You probably like this gilded cage.”

Rhaena flushed. “It is safe here. And allows for me to reflect upon the will of the gods.”

Daena rolled her eyes. “Reflect, then.” She got to her feet, and went into her bedroom. Rhaena kept studying her needlework.

“She’ll see one day it’s for the best,” Rhaena whispered, and Elaena looked at her.

“No,” Elaena said at last.

Rhaena looked up at her. “No she won’t, or no it’s not?”

“Both,” Elaena said.

Rhaena gave her a look. “You’re too much like her,” she said. “I wish you’d understand that it’s for the best.”

Elaena picked up the circle of silvery hair from the platter that Baelor had returned it on. “Where in the scriptures does it say that girls should be locked away?” she asked. “It says that men shall have dominion over their wives, but where that women should be locked away?”

Rhaena’s lips sprang apart in surprise.

“It doesn’t,” Elaena said. She got to her feet. “It doesn’t, but Baelor commands it. It’s…It’s…it’s just _wrong_. He’s wrong! And you know it. You know I’m right.” She breathed heavily. She knew she was right. Daena said she was studying like a maester. She was the clever one.

She went to the window, and looked down into the practice yard. She was too high up to see their faces. Nothing was clear anymore.

* * *

Daeron was growing. He wasn’t quite as tall as Elaena yet, but he would be soon if he didn’t stop, and Elaena suspected he wouldn’t. Everyone knew that boys were taller than girls when they were done growing.

“I brought you Maester Galdwell’s account of Jaehaerys’ visit to Winterfell,” he said, handing her the tome. It was heavy.

“He was only there for a few weeks,” Elaena said, rolling her eyes. “Surely there can’t be _that_ much to say on the subject.”

“The Grand Maester says it also talks about Alysanne,” Daeron said, sitting down at the table next to her.

“Oh,” Elaena said. There were often discussions of Alysanne in the histories that Daeron brought her, but not many of the books were this thick. She glanced at him. “The Grand Maester said?” she asked.

Daeron’s ears went pink. “I haven’t read it yet. He says I won’t for a few years, but I’m not done with the one that he’s making me read now, so I can’t give it to you. He said this one would be a good thing for a princess of the blood to read. It also tells about Alysanne’s trip to the Wall, and her debates with Septon Barth…” he looked hopeful, but also nervous. “Don’t be mad at me.”

“Why would I be mad at you?” Elaena asked, cocking her head. “You brought me a book. So what if you haven’t read it?”

“Nothing,” Daeron said quickly. “I thought you might be…it doesn’t matter.”

Elaena frowned at him, and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Sometimes father gets mad at me if I don’t do as I’m told.”

Elaena snorted. “If everyone did as your father wished, women would never wear clothes, and most men would cover themselves in the blood of…whoever they wanted.” Daeron grinned sheepishly, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Elaena took his hand. “He doesn’t hurt you, does he?” He shook his head.

“I just…I’ll never be what he wants me to be, I think. I’m not as good with a sword as he would like, and I can’t tell if he’s angry that I’m less like him in that, or less like Uncle Aemon. But I’m too bookish. And I don’t like fighting. He thinks I listen to Baelor too much.”

“Anything is listening to Baelor too much,” grumbled Elaena. Daeron looked suddenly even more uncomfortable.

She sighed. “I suppose he’s not bad to you. You’re a boy.”

“He speaks of peace. I think that’s a good thing.” He looked at the book he had brought her. “Peace is what a good king promises his subjects.”

 _You’d make a good king, if you know that already_ , Elaena thought, then she felt guilty. _Daena_ was Baelor’s heir, not Uncle Viserys, and his sons and grandsons. But it was true—Daeron would make a good king.

* * *

 

The door to the tower opened one day, and three young girls came through. They wore brightly colored silks, and their hair was looped neatly. Elaena glanced between Rhaena and Daena as they came in and the door shut behind them.

“Princess,” the first one said, taking a step toward Daena. “My name is Cerenna Errol. The king sent me and my sisters, Danessa and Gwyn, to keep you company in your days.”

“Did he really?” Daena asked dryly, raising her eyebrows.

Cerenna’s smile faltered, but only for a moment. The second Errol girl, perhaps about Rhaena’s age, stepped forward. “He said that if this was truly to be your court of beauty, surely you would need courtiers.” Danessa said.

Daena looked between the three of them, and Elaena waited with baited breath. To her surprise it was Rhaena who spoke. “Welcome, my friends,” she said warmly, extending her hands to take one of Cerenna’s and Danessa’s.

“No,” Daena said. “No, they are not welcome,” she turned on her heel and marched towards her bedroom door.

“Daena,” Rhaena said, her voice stern.

“I will not be a way for fools to curry favor with Baelor. Befriend them if you like. I’ll have nothing to do with them.” She slammed the door behind her, and Elaena glanced at Rhaena.

Part of her wanted to go to Daena, to throw herself onto her sister’s bed and for the two of them to lie there, understanding what no one else could, what it truly meant to be here every day, with only the window into the courtyard.

But she looked at Gwyn Errol, who was only a few years her elder, if that, and felt such a longing that she gave the nervous looking girl a smile.

 _He means it kindly,_ she thought. _He means for us not to be alone, at least…_ And Elaena felt so very lonely sometimes, for all she loved her sisters.  Surely Daena wouldn't be too angry with her if she tried to make friends with them.

Gwyn smiled back and Rhaena gestured towards some seats and the five of them sat down together.

* * *

More and more girls came, each of them with smiles, and stories. Amabel Oakheart and Jeyne Varmer, Malora Trant, Margot Yarwyck and Amerei Bettley, Sharra Royce and Tya Waynwood.

They were all of them much older than her, some of them were wed, but all of them had fathers or husbands at court who only ever spoke highly of Baelor, and that alone made it hard to talk to them. They spoke so highly of her brother, and Elaena didn’t know what to say. They asked her why she continued to cut her hair short, why she always wore black, and she didn’t know how to answer. They laughed and gossiped and prayed with Rhaena, and some of the braver ones tried to befriend Daena, who would glare at them all stonily when they tried. But far from making Elaena feel better, having company in young girls closer to her own age, she found it made her feel worse.

She longed for the hours when they would leave and she could be with her books again. She wished that it were Daeron visiting her instead of these girls because Daeron, at least, understood.  But as time went by, she saw less and less of her cousin.

At first, she tried not to be disconsolate about it. It wasn’t their fault, after all, that they did not understand what it meant to be locked away here. But one day, Naerys brought her a note from him, stating that he wished he could visit, but the King could not allow it as he approached his own manhood while he was unwed but that he promised to write to her.

 _Am I so worthless?  s_ he wondered, _That he wouldn’t even try?_ She’d tried—she’d tried to run. Had Daeron even tried?

She looked out of the window, blinking tears back. For the first time, she understood why Daena stared out the window with such intensity. She wasn’t staring at the freedom denied her, she was staring at the cobblestones beneath and wondering what it would be like to fall and not get up.

* * *

_Dear cousin,_

_Lady Barba laughs that I must write you like this. She says it is like we are secret lovers, and I am sending notes to a sweetheart. I don’t think she understands. Or perhaps, she thinks you are like your father when it comes to women._

_I miss your presence, but am grateful of your last letter, and grateful of the news of the King’s dealings. Your mother doesn’t like to tell of it, and of the ladies he sends to attend to our court of beauty, few of them seem to understand that I do not wish to know of the gossip of the court. They are sweet girls, and I am grateful of the company, but they are all older than me, and think me a silly child who won’t understand things, when in truth it is they who do not understand._

_It is good to hear that Baelor’s wisdom in ruling the realm is well-received. He is much beloved, I’m sure, though my own bitterness at my imprisonment makes that hard for me to admit. I am sure the Hand, your grandfather and my uncle, works hard to make sure that Baelor’s will is enacted as best it can be. Were I you, I would pay close attention to him. He’s a wise man, and has a great deal of experience. My own father trusted him with ruling implicitly, as I’m sure Baelor does as well. He is wise to listen to our father—in this at least._

_Run about the courtyard for me, and climb trees in the godswood._

_Elaena_

* * *

_Elaena, I always marvel at how artfully you write. No one reading your letter would know how I’m sure you are keeping your most brutal opinions beneath your words. If anyone were to find that letter, they’d find not a fraction of the ill will I know you feel. I’d best learn from you to be so subtle. While it is true that my letters to you are less likely to fall into the hands of those who would cause trouble than yours to me, my mother may still read them._

_I miss you, more than I truly know how to say. It is lonely here without you, and your sisters as well. My father keeps saying that my mother is to blame for my loneliness—that she cannot give birth to children who will live and so I must be doomed to be alone. I know that is not the truth of it, of course, but it’s strange. I think my grandfather treats me almost as a man, and I know I should be grateful at that, that I should want it, but I find that the idea sits ill with me. I’m not ready to be a man grown, with the responsibilities that come with it. I have so much left to learn, and only letters to my cousin Elaena to help me learn it._

_I wish that the king had not forbade my visiting. I don’t see why my father is allowed to and I am not. He is far more given to the sorts of things that the king frowns upon than I am._

* * *

Elaena’s first blood came when she was fourteen years old, after three years locked away with her sisters. It came in the night, and when she woke, her thighs were crashed with red and brown, and the crisp white sheets that she slept upon were stained with blood.

Elaena climbed from the bed.

She knew what this was. Daena and Rhaena both bled every month. It made Daena even more irascible and it made Rhaena more prone to tears when Daena’s words were harsh. Elaena didn’t feel different at all.

She stripped off her sleeping shift and went to the mirror and stared long and hard at her naked body. _I still look like a child_ , she thought. Skinny, and with hips and breasts that could never compare to her sisters. She did not look like a woman at all, though she was sure that the septas who tended to them while they were locked away would tell her that she was now.

 _Is this what you see me as, brother?_ She wondered vaguely as she stared at her nonexistent breasts and the blood that was snaking down her leg now that she was standing.

It was. It had to be.

She pinched at her hips, at her breasts, as though to see if truly they were as small as she saw in her mirror. She looked at her own face—still childlike, still pale, and her hair, mussed from sleep and still short. Nothing had changed. She was as she had been yesterday, and as she would be tomorrow.

 _Fool_ , she thought. _Fool, fool, fool._


	2. Chapter 2

“You’ll wish to know that Prince Daeron is to wed the Princess Mariah Martell,” Barba told Rhaena one day, and Elaena looked up from her book, blinking.

“He is?” she asked, even before Rhaena could respond. Barba looked at her out of the corner of her eye. Barba was a shrewd young woman from the riverlands, and Elaena had never known what to say to her. She always felt as though she were saying things that would make Barba laugh at her.

“Oh yes,” Barba said. “It was announced this morning.”

Elaena looked down at her book. She was reading Daeron’s account of his conquest of Dorne, and wondering if the words on the page had truly been written by her elder brother. She wondered what Daeron would say to learn that his own nephew who had been named for him was to wed a Martell.

“Oh,” was all Elaena said. What else could one say? Daeron, to her mind, was still a boy. Days and weeks had flowed together to such an extent that she’d forgotten that time outside of the tower was truly passing. She counted her days in letters from Daeron, in prayers with Naerys, in tidbits of gossip from the ladies who sat with them, from the number of times she read Septon Barth’s book on dragons. And somewhere, in all of those things, years had slipped away. _Daeron is a man grown_ , she thought. _He is…sixteen now, I suppose. Old enough to wed._ So was she, at nineteen, but Naerys had brought no word that Baelor was bargaining her marriage. Like as not she’d die in this tower, still thinking of herself as an eleven year old girl, though she’d be past seventy.

A little while later, she got to her feet and went to the table, and wrote, for the first time in years, to her brother.

_Baelor,_

_The Lady Barba Bracken informs me that my cousin Daeron is to wed Princess Mariah Martell. I know better than to think that you would release me from the tower to see my own cousin say his vows before gods and men on such a holy occasion, but I pray that perhaps you would allow me. Surely the Father will not judge you too harshly for allowing me to see such a sacred celebration._

_Elaena_

* * *

 

_Dearest Elaena,_

_What joy it brought me to see your words on the paper my cousin Aemon did bring me. How long it has been since I have heard your voice, or seen your face. Nothing could bring me greater joy than to allow you to see our cousin Daeron wed, but, alas, I cannot allow such a thing. Though I have faith in your piety, I fear that the hot blood that accompanies a wedding would lead to lustful thoughts on the part of my courtiers, and I could not allow such a thing to shame the gods during such a sacred celebration, to use your words._

_With all my love and the blessing of the gods,_

_Baelor_

It was Naerys who brought her the letter, and Elaena crumpled it in her hand and threw it in the fire. Aegon was sitting with Daena, and the two of them were already smiling. It was good to see Daena smile, but Elaena was almost too angry to notice it. “He didn’t even consider it, did he?” she asked her cousin.

Naerys gave her a comforting smile. “I fear not. Daeron was there when he read it, and begged on your behalf as well, but he would not hear it.” She reached out a hand and took Elaena’s. “I shall have Mariah visit you often, though. Such a friendship would bring Daeron great joy, I’m sure.”

“Will Daeron be able to visit again once he’s wed?” Elaena asked, hardly daring to hope.

Naerys’ eyes dropped, and Elaena sighed. “Aegon still visits Daena,” she complained.

“I don’t think anyone knows how to say no to Aegon,” Naerys said quietly and a pang filled Elaena’s heart. She chewed her lip.

“I should like to know Mariah,” Elaena said. Mariah, she thought, would be different than any of the other ladies Baelor sent to their court of beauty. Mariah would be family once she wed Daeron. That alone would make it different, she hoped.

* * *

Mariah was a sweet girl, witty and charming, and thoughtful. She spoke warmly of Daeron. “He is a good man,” she said. “And a good husband.” It was still hard to think of Daeron as a man. Elaena had seen him in the yards from time to time, and he was taller, yes, but he was still younger than she, and she hardly felt more than a skinny stick of a stupid girl sometimes.

“Are you truly happy?” Daena asked her. Daena was in a good mood today. She, too, had taken well to Mariah. Perhaps she, like Elaena, saw that Mariah was family. Though her good mood seemed to have extended beyond Mariah’s visits. It made Elaena happy, to see her sister happy. Daena was so rarely happy.

“Yes,” Mariah said, smiling and taking a bite of the lemon cakes that had been brought for the afternoon. “Daeron is a good man,” she repeated. “A kind man. A gentle man. You Westerosi can be so brutal, and there are stories of your brother Daeron’s campaign that I should not like to believe. But Daeron is better than I expected when my mother told me I was to wed.”

“That’s nice,” Daena said smiling and reaching for a lemon cake as well. Rhaena looked at her, surprised, then glanced at Elaena, who shrugged. “You don’t miss home too much?”

Mariah sighed. “I miss the warmth,” she said. “And the food here is far too bland. But…it’s not helpful to wish for home. It only makes me sad. This is my home now.”

“It is,” Daena agreed.

“And we’re your family now,” Rhaena said warmly. “I will say, it is nice to have a new cousin.”

Mariah flushed. “I am grateful to hear you say so,” she said. “I have felt very welcomed at court. Though of course King Baelor…” she made a face and Rhaena bit her lip while Daena laughed.

“Does he find your Dornish gowns too tempting?” Daena said snidely.

“He has asked Daeron that I have new ones made at once,” Mariah confessed. “Though in truth, I’d have needed them anyway.”

“With winter coming, I can only assume you’d grow too cold,” Elaena said.

“Yes,” Mariah said slowly, the pink in her cheeks deepening, “and I am with child.”

“Oh how marvelous! You and Daeron must be so pleased,” Rhaena exclaimed.

“Congratulations!” Elaena said, sure that that was what one said to a woman with child.

Daena’s smile grew catlike and she paused before she spoke. “How lovely. So am I.”

* * *

Daemon was born in Daena’s shrieks, only a few days after Mariah gives birth to her son, named Baelor for the king. If Daeron naming his son for Baelor was to gain favor, or to distract him from Baelor’s failure to keep Daena from the sin of fornication, he failed, for the day of Daemon’s birth, Baelor began to fast.

He fasted day and night, and Missy Blackwood told Rhaena that he was growing gaunt and skeletal and would not listen to the entreaties of the court that he eat. “He must know the will of the gods,” Missy said.

Elaena could not care. She sat next to Daena, and cradled her nephew in her arms. He had lovely purple eyes and smiled easily, though his cries for food in the night meant that Elaena slept poorly.

 _He is a sweet thing_ , Elaena thought of him. _Baelor’s a fool to fast for his existence._

The castle was quiet day and night while Baelor fasted and prayed until one night, in the middle of the night, the bells began to toll loudly and dolefully.

Daemon began to cry as Elaena rubbed the sleep from her eyes.

She had not heard these bells since she was a girl—not since Daeron had died, and her father.

 _The king is dead_ , she thought. _He starved himself to death._

But she could not feel sad. She went to the window, and opened it and looked up at the stars. There were so many of them.

* * *

It was raining when they left the Vault, and Elaena tilted her face up towards the heavens.  _This is more godly than anything you ever tried to make me think, brother_ , Elaena thought, smiling as the water touched her face, covering it with wetness. How it dripped like tears, and yet, somehow, miraculously, did not dry her face the way that tears did. She closed her eyes.

“Princess?” came a gentle voice, a male one, and she opened her eyes again. For a moment, she did not recognize his face. Then it came back to her. It was more lined now, and his silvery hair was even paler than it had been when she’d been a girl.

“My Lord,” she said, dipping into a rusted curtsey.

“With your royal brother’s illness so late of our mind, it would be distressing if you were to fall ill.”

Elaena laughed.

“Fall ill?” she said. “My Lord Velaryon, I can think of nothing that would make me feel more alive.” She turned on her heel and burst into a run—when had she last run?—through the bailey, jumping into the first puddle she could find and laughing.

“Cousin?” she heard Lord Velaryon from behind her. He was watching her, looking quite alarmed. _He fears me mad_ , Elaena thought. She laughed again, which she knew did nothing to help his assumption.

She ran to another puddle and leapt into it, mud splattering the hem of her dress. More people were watching her now, other courtiers who had come to see them out, to catch a glimpse of Daena’s bastard, to greet sweet pious Rhaena. They were watching her, all with the same expression on their faces, and the joy in Elaena’s heart withered and died. _I cannot recover girlhood, I suppose,_ she thought sadly. She sighed, and took a deep breath. Daena had already gone inside, their Uncle Viserys at her side, as had Rhaena arm in arm with Naerys. It was just her, and Lord Velaryon and—she spied him. Her book dealer. Her sweet cousin, taller than she was now, and a man grown. _Am I truly a woman?_ She wondered again. She straightened her skirts and walked to him. If he had been unnerved by her behavior of moments before he said nothing now.

“Thank you, cousin,” she said. He looked confused. “For the books,” she added hastily. “They were a much needed distraction. I know I have already thanked you. I wished to do so again in person.”

Daeron’s eyes flickered for a moment, then he smiled, and it was not to placate her. It was a true smile. _He understands_ , she thought, hardly daring hope. “The pleasure was truly mine,” he whispered, “Of that I can assure you. Though a book is hardly a replacement for playing in the rain.”

Elaena’s heart twisted again, and she looked up at the grey sky, leaving her eyes open again. “No,” she said quietly. She could not think of what else to say.

“Would you like to walk about the bailey before we go in, Princess?” said Lord Velaryon, who no longer looked worried about her. Pity had returned.

Pride flared for just a moment. She was free now. She did not need their pity anymore. But she saw it was kindly meant, and he was her father's cousin. “I would take great pleasure in it, my lord,” she said, and he offered his arm, and instead of walking to the Serpentine Steps, they turned left towards the portcullis that would take them to the outer yard.

* * *

Daena refused to attend Baelor’s funeral. “He’d not want me—a sinner—there,” she said to Uncle Viserys forcefully, and as if to prove a point, she drew her breast from her bodice to give her son to suck. Uncle Viserys took a deep breath. “It will be unseemly that you not attend the King’s pyre.”

“It was unseemly that he locked me away for ten years,” spat Daena.

“She is irascible,” Daeron said quietly to Elaena.

 _She is in pain_ , Elaena wanted to say, _we all are_ , but instead, she gave him a look. He flushed.

“Forgive me,” he said quickly, “I know it was a great thing that she—you all—suffered.”

“How easily forgettable,” she said, dryly, and Daeron flushed an even deeper pink, looking more a boy than a man of seventeen.

It was still raining when the kingsguard brought Baelor’s bier to across the city to his great sept. _His crowning glory_ , Elaena thought bitterly as she looked at it. It was indeed beautiful, white marble that she was sure would glow on sunny days. She reached up a hand to run it through her hair before remembering she was hooded and—furthermore—among the commons. She could practically hear her mother saying it would not do to play with her hair so she ran it along the edge of the dark hood of her cloak instead.

She stood by Rhaena at the end of the row while the High Septon spoke of Baelor’s goodness. It was all so foreign to her. She wondered if history would remember Baelor as half-mad—kind to the commons, cruel to his kin. _I loved you once, brother_ , she thought sadly.

He was just a man in the end, she supposed. Blinded by holiness—or what he thought it meant to be holy. But in the end, just a man, who, when he didn’t eat, starved to death. He looked skeletal on the pyre. Skeletal and old. When had he grown so old? She could not remember. She could barely remember when she had grown old. She could not already be one and twenty, and yet here she stood. _Older than Daeron had been when he died_ , she thought suddenly. She could not remember his face. There must be a coin somewhere with his likeness carved in it. She would find one later. One for him, and one for father, and perhaps one for Baelor—to remember the boy he’d been if not to celebrate the man he’d become.

His pyre was lit, and heat filled the sept. _Father was afraid of dragons_ , she thought. _Did dragonfire burn this hot?_ She imagined it burned hotter, and thought of her egg. Perhaps she should have snuck it onto Baelor’s pyre to see if the heat would make it hatch.

Down the row, Aegon stretched, and turned to whisper something to his father. Then he rested his hand on Daeron’s shoulder and the two of them departed. Naerys watched them go, a look of shock on her face, and Rhaena took her hand. Elaena wanted to leave too, but the opportunity was gone. _And no one to hold my hand_. She could take Rhaena’s she supposed, but it wouldn’t mean the same. She loved her sister, but she did not mourn her brother, did not seek for solace in his death the way that Naerys and Rhaena seemed to. She wished Daena had come, so she wouldn’t be so alone.

She crossed her arms over her chest and stared at the flames, counting in her head, counting turning into coins, into the calculation game she’d played while locked away. _This is your farewell, brother. The one you drove me to._ At least she enjoyed it.

Behind her, she heard stirring, and glanced to see Lord Velaryon again, and his wife, Lady Baela. “I feel unwell, husband,” Lady Baela was saying, “It is too hot.” Lord Velaryon said something to her in a hushed tone. She took his arm and they edged out of the pew. Elaena slipped out after them.

“Cousin,” she said quietly, looping her arm through Baela’s other one. “You are looking pale. Are you unwell?”

Baela looked at her, surprised for a moment, then her face softened. “It is sweet of you, cousin,” she said, “I fear the heat is not good for me.” The three of them walked out together, Elaena not looking behind her to see if Rhaena noticed her disappearance. She would be safe with Lord and Lady Velaryon.

“There, that’s better,” Elaena said when they reached the wet outside.

Baela sighed. “Yes. I had not thought I would come to consider Driftmark my home until I realized how much I miss its mists.” She smiled down at Elaena. Baela was taller than her young cousin, and there were wrinkles around her eyes and lips. _She smiles easily_ , Elaena thought. _Signs of kindness_. “Thank you, my dear.”

Elaena let go of her arm, and dipped into a curtsey before, accompanied by the blue-cloaked guards of House Velaryon, they made their way through the muddied streets back to the Red Keep.

* * *

Everything happened quickly when she wasn’t in the tower. Days changed, and things occupied them. Elaena could, and did, walk the Red Keep, rain or shine. She would sit with Daena, and what ladies who had joined them in their court of beauty who had not, at the advice of their fathers, abandoned their company in favor of those whose stars were not setting.

Daena took it ill.

“I should be queen,” she said bitterly, looking at no one. Her newfound freedom had not alleviated the blackness in her heart, though that did not surprise Elaena. It had not alleviated the blackness in her own, either. Everyone kept acting as though ten years was hardly any time, as though they should be grateful of their freedom, that it was over, but there were times when Elaena forgot that it truly was, that she forgot that she could go where she willed and do as she pleased.

“If the gods will it, you shall be,” Rhaena said. She said no more than that, leaving the rest unspoken—that Daena was a sinner, and the gods did not reward sinners with a crown.

“The smallfolk will it,” Daena said. “And the lords of the Bay.” Elaena looked over at her, surprised. “Our cousin Baela it seems would have me on the Iron Throne. And her husband as well. No doubts she would see him made master of ships,” Daena shrugged.

“Do other lords will it?” Elaena asked. Her sister would need more than Driftmark to claim the throne that their father and brothers had sat, or else she would share a fate with the Queen Who Never Was.

Daena remained silent. Once she might have smiled at Elaena, called her clever, pet her hair, but not today. Instead she looked down at her son, asleep on her lap, and said, “Lord Alyn says he will speak on my behalf.” She left it there.

 _If there’s no one else your cause is doomed_ , Elaena wanted to say, but she couldn’t bring herself to. Not to Daena. She looked at Daemon, asleep in her lap, perfectly content, perfectly ignorant that he would never be king, and she looked across the godswood. She let herself fall back on the grass and listened to the chirping birds and the sounds of her sisters quiet breath.

* * *

Lord Alyn the Oakenfist did speak on Daena’s behalf, and Lords Bar Emmon and Celtigar followed suit. But Lords Lannister and Baratheon, Tyrell and Arryn were all for their Uncle Viserys, and Lord Stark did not bestir himself from Winterfell, and though he did send a steward to cast a vote, the steward arrived three days before Viserys’ coronation.

“She takes it gracefully,” Daeron said to Elaena. Today she stood at his side, unlike at Baelor’s funeral pyre. Daena stood at the end of the row, her eyes on Aegon who stood at the altar by his father’s side, her babe clutched to her breast. Her eyes were intense, but they were not the eyes that Elaena knew so well—the furious refusal to be seen as weak, or defeated. If anything there was an odd sensation of hope in her eyes as she watched Aegon.

 _She wants her babe legitimized_ , Elaena thought, _She wants him in line for the throne._

Elaena knew who Daemon’s father was.

It had surprised her more than she could say that the entire court did not. Of the visitors allowed in the tower, only Prince Aemon and Prince Aegon were men, and Prince Aemon would never have touched Daena in such a way. But the court was convinced she’d snuck a lover in, or had somehow managed to sneak out to enjoy lovers' trysts with a paramour. _What fools,_ she thought bitterly _, If Daena could have gotten out, we’d all have been freed much sooner. And what man could she sneak in when I couldn’t even sneak in Daeron?_ It amazed her what people willed themselves not to see.

She would never tell, though. She couldn’t. So long as Daena kept it a secret, so too would Elaena, and Elaena knew exactly why she kept it a secret.

_If she cannot be queen, she will not rest until her son is King. And she’ll see it done._

A shiver went down her side as she looked at Daeron out of the corner of his eye. _He is Aegon’s heir. He’ll sit the Iron Throne one day._ She did not know what to think—that Daena might try and unseat her cousin’s claim. _It’s Daena’s right. She should be queen._

 _But she’s not._ The thought pained her, and she put it away.

Daeron was tall, and comely, and looked very like his father, though his eyes were a deeper purple—more like Prince Aemon’s. Had Naerys been anyone but Naerys, perhaps there would be whispers about Daeron’s paternity. But Naerys was as faithful as any unhappy wife could be.

 _The gods will reward her for it,_ Elaena found herself thinking. _As they punished Daena._

But no—it was not the Gods who punished Daena. It was Baelor. In locking her away, he made sure that she could not be his heir, for she had no friends at court. The lords would see her only as a weak woman, hardly her best self, the bright princess she’d been before Daeron had died. And as for her wantonness…what had that to do with her rights?

She hoped that Naerys, in her fidelity to her husband, at least felt some satisfaction in her gods.

 _I have no gods_ , Elaena thought. For all Rhaena had tried to encourage it, Baelor’s fervor had ruined her for religion. Hadn’t it?

She did not know. She could not know. She looked at Daeron once again, then cast a glance over her shoulder to see everyone gathered there behind them.

She didn’t know what she wanted. Probably something she couldn’t have. It had been that way in the tower, and it would surely be that way now.

* * *

“What are you reading?”

Elaena started and looked around.

“My Lord Alyn,” she said, smiling at him, “I did not hear you approach.” She was sitting in the Keep’s library, a cramped room that smelled of parchment and dust.

Lord Alyn inclined his head.

“Forgive me for startling you, Princess,” he said. “I was merely curious. It’s a rare thing to find anyone in here, much less a Princess of the King’s own blood.”

Elaena looked back down at the book. “I am reading the accounts of my father’s early reign and the taxes set by his masters of coin,” she said.

Lord Alyn’s eyebrows shot up. “I should think you would find little interesting in such accounts,” he said, not bothering to keep his surprise from his voice. “I can promise you, there was little interesting in whatever it was that Grand Maester Munken advised the council of regents.”

“Can you?” Elaena asked, “My understanding was you weren’t at court, my lord.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she wished she could summon them back. “Forgive me,” she said, looking down at the book again. “I had not meant…”

But Lord Alyn laughed. “Lord Unwin sought to shame me, I think, but in the end it was a gift. Had I been one of your royal father’s regents, I’m sure that I would never have made it to Lannisport, or Volantis. Adventures are so much more exciting than life at court.”

“And yet here you are, master of ships,” Elaena smiled, glad that she had not struck an old wound in her comment.

Lord Alyn smiled. “I’m old, sweet Princess. I may have another voyage in me, but for the time being, I must content myself with an old man’s lot.”

“You hardly look your age, my lord,” Elaena said, thinking of Baelor’s corpse which had seemed twice or thrice as old as Lord Alyn.

“I am your father’s senior by five years,” Lord Alyn said. “I’ve sons your age.” He looked suddenly sad. “I am glad you are not trapped in your tower anymore, Elaena.”

Elaena looked down at the book on her table. “I am glad of it as well, my lord,” she said.

“Your brother was many things, but in that, he was neither wise nor kind,” said Lord Alyn.

“But he was the King,” Elaena sighed. She placed a ribbon in the margin of the book and closed it.

“I hope you don’t mind my having said it,” Lord Alyn said quickly.

Elaena shook her head. “No,” she said. “I think it often.” Then she smiled up at him. How easy the smile came, even if she felt nothing inside. “Tell me of your adventures, my lord. I’ve heard some tall tales, and should quite like to know what is true.”

* * *

"I see the Princess is at her books again," Lord Alyn teased one afternoon.  She was sitting in the godswood, an account of Daeron's conquest of Dorne open on her lap.

"I'm reading about you, my lord," she replied easily, and he raised an eyebrow.

"And what have I done to merit such an honor?" he asked.

"You fought beside my brother," she said calmly.  

Lord Alyn smiled modestly.  "I've long been a friend to your house.  I'd not be Lord Velaryon, and not have the lovely Baela as my bride had fortune not smiled upon me.  I'd be some poor bastard in Hull, claiming dragon's blood without truly being able to prove it."

"You loved him well—Daeron?" she asked.  She barely remembered Daeron.  She remembered Daena loving Daeron—impossible to forget as she cursed Baelor for being the infinitely inferior brother, howling about why was it that the good died young more than once—better than she remembered Daeron.  

"He was a fine man," Lord Alyn said.  He sat down at her side, leaning with his back against a tree.  "The gods took him too soon.  Took them both too soon," he added.

Elaena bit her lip.  She knew he had to say it, just as she had to agree with him.  It was ill to be glad her brother and king were dead.  But she was.  Every time she heard the whispering of the leaves in the godswood, she thought how happy she was to be outside.  One should not have to be grateful to sit beneath the open skies.

"A puissant warrior," Lord Alyn said quickly.  "Bolder than anyone else ever dared.  I like to think your father would have been so bold, had he not seen what had befallen his lady mother."

"Were you there?" Elaena asked. "When Sunfyre—"

"Gods be good," Alyn laughed.  "If I had been, I imagine she'd have had some company in the dragon's belly.  No, no.  I'd been injured and could not fight by her side," he said.  

"Of course," Elaena said, feeling suddenly stupid.  She looked down at the page again.  Daeron's name peppered it in minute letters.  

"I've gone and upset you," Lord Alyn said.  

"No," she lied quickly.

"I have," he said.  "Child, look at me."  She did.  "I've daughters and sons your own age and older.  I know that expression well.  What is it that I said?"

Elaena wanted to look back at her book, but she did not.  It would be weakness to do so.  Daena never would.

"I...mislike remembering I don't know everything," she said.

Lord Alyn's eyebrows flicked up, then he burst out laughing.  "Sweet girl," he chuckled, "Then I fear that you'll not enjoy life nearly as much as your fellow man.  No man can know everything.  Much less a woman."

"A woman can know just as much as a man—if not more.  I knew more than Baelor," she snapped.

"It wouldn't take much," Alyn said dryly, and Elaena smiled wryly.  "But I cede the point.  Regardless—you cannot know everything.  That is the way of life.  No one knows everything—not even the highest of archmaesters in Oldtown.  Not even our gods, I'd warrant.  Best learn to live with it, sweetling."

 _Or be better at hiding what I don't know_ , she thought, though she didn't say it aloud.  She liked the way that Lord Alyn was smiling at her.  It was benevolent, kindly, caring...she hadn't seen a man's smile like that since her father had died, since Aegon's smiles had never really been for her.  And she was sure that if she said as much to Alyn, the smile would falter, somehow.   _I'd be showing him what I don't know,_ she realized.

Instead, she said, "Perhaps I must learn to live with my own ignorance."

"If that is all you learn from me, I would be well satisfied, princess," said Lord Alyn, but there was something in his eyes that made that seem nearly a lie.

* * *

“You’re sure I cannot convince you to stay, niece?” Uncle Viserys said gently. He always spoke gently to them. Almost too gently. Elaena wasn’t sure she trusted it.

Once, she might have thought she didn’t trust any man. But Daeron was good company and Lord Alyn…well, she felt safe with him. He seemed to understand her better even than her cousin—better than anyone who wasn’t Daena.

And Rhaena…

Elaena looked at her older sister. She was standing there, garbed modestly, smiling gently, and she kissed their uncle on the cheek. “I’m sure, Uncle,” she said. “I used to jape that our time in the tower prepared me for the motherhouse. I’d not lead the men of the court on in thinking that they might hope to wed me. My heart is with the gods.”

Elaena glanced at Naerys, who stood at her father’s side. She looked sad. How many times had she begged for an annulment that she too might go to a motherhouse and spend her days in devotion? She was swollen with child again, and her face was thin. She didn’t eat well when she was pregnant. She simply prayed that the gods would guide her through the birth of her child, and that she would not know the loss of another babe.

“Go in peace, niece,” sighed their uncle. “May the gods be grateful of your devotion.”

“It’s a pity,” Aegon said later over dinner. His father had excused himself with a bad belly, and Naerys was so great with child that she ate abed oft as not these days. “She never did know what to do with those tits.”

“Be nice,” Daena intoned, though it didn’t sound as though her heart was in it. Rhaena’s departure seemed to have shaken her.

“It’s the truth,” Aegon laughed. “My lady wife would have me believe that teats are for no more or less than feeding a babe, but I think you and I both know that’s not true,” he said. Down the table from him, Daeron’s face turned bright red, and Elaena pretended to adjust her napkin. Her own teats were still so small…

 _Still only a girl,_ she thought sadly. _A girl who doesn’t know everything_ , she added, thinking of Lord Alyn. He had daughters older than she by Lady Baela. Why did that thought make her sad?

 _He’s like a father to me_ —the father she’d lost and had loved so dearly. Or, perhaps, he was like Daeron, a bold warrior. Daena had adored Daeron deeply, though Elaena had barely known him. She wondered if he could be as bold as Lord Alyn described, or if that was all just stories. He liked telling stories. And she liked to listen to them. And he liked that she listened.

Aegon was laughing about something and it jerked her from her reverie. _He doesn’t even notice me_ , she thought. Tiny, little Elaena—hardly worth the energy Aegon spent eating. _At least he loves Daena, though_ , she thought. For that, she could not condemn him, even if he was…well… _Aegon_. Aegon and not Alyn.

She imagined Alyn at the table with them. She wouldn’t have to listen to Aegon’s bloviating then—she could hear about Alyn’s adventures at sea, and watch how his blue eyes sparkled, and how she could pretend that they sparkled for her, and not for the memories of his youth.

* * *

Their uncle Viserys died of a bad belly, and the bells in Baelor’s great stone sept rang dolefully as they escorted his bier from the Red Keep across the city. Elaena walked at Daena’s side, behind Naerys and Daeron who followed Aegon and Aemon, the dutiful sons of the king. Behind them were cousins and courtiers, and whenever they turned a bend in the road, Elaena saw Lord Alyn out of the corner of her eye, arm in arm with Lady Rosby. His own wife, Princess Baela, had not come out from Driftmark, her own health failing. Elaena could not help but be glad of it.

_I shouldn’t be_ , she thought. _Baela is his wife. He is wed, and I’m just a spit of a girl who fancies herself in love._

She had reached the conclusion that that was what it was. That was the only explanation. To so utterly crave his attention, to think on his words with such warmth, to feel so heartsick—it had to be that she was in love with him.

_And he is wed to another._

She almost wanted to tell Daena. Daena would not condemn loving a married man, not without condemning herself to hypocrisy with the very babe in her arms. _Daena would be happy, wouldn’t she?_ She looked at her sister. It seemed nothing made Daena happy of late, and Rhaena’s departure had almost made it worse. _Nothing makes it better, save Daemon…_ She looked at her little nephew, gurgling away in his mother’s arms. _Her defiance,_ she thought. _She’ll not let them forget her…_

Daena never wanted to be forgotten. Not ever. And she’d have what she wanted, for she was Daena of the iron will. _What do I want though?_

She listened to the bells ringing loud over the city, and the sounds of feet and hooves on the road. _I wanted to be free, but now…_

She closed her eyes for half a heartbeat. Gods help her—she wanted _him_.

 _I never get what I want_ , she thought. Not when she’d cut her hair, not the books she’d begged for in the tower, not for her father to live, and her mother... _I want him._

She wanted him, and she could…she looked at Daena and the babe in her arms. There was nothing to _stop_ her, save the expectations of her station and blood. _But what are those expectations? That I be what Baelor willed me to be?_

Alyn never wanted that from her. _But does he want me as I want him?_

The procession turned as they reached the base of Visenya’s Hill, and out of the corner of her eye, Elaena caught sight of him again.

He was watching her.

* * *

“You’re wed,” she whispered to him. His lips were at her throat, and her heart was pounding in her chest and she almost cursed herself for letting the words spill from her lips. His hand at the small of her back shifted, and for just a moment, she couldn’t feel it anymore.

“Aye,” Alyn breathed. “Aye, sweet Princess, I’m wed.”

“Do you not love her?” she asked. He was pulling away from her now, pulling away, his blue eyes dark and serious.

“She is my wife,” he said simply. “I love her, but she is not here. I am loyal when she is present, but when I am on my voyages or far away…” he let his voice trail away. “Does that repel you?” Tentatively, he raised a hand to caress her cheek, and Elaena closed her eyes for just a moment, relishing the warmth of his touch.

“Do you love me?” she asked. Her voice quivered. She felt like such a young girl compared to him. _He could be my father._

His lips were soft when he pressed them against her own. “Dearly,” he said. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and held him as close to her as she could. “Dearly, Elaena.”

* * *

 

Winter in King’s Landing was always chilly. It rained, and the skies were grey, but this winter, Elaena was warm. She spent her mornings with Daena, her afternoons in the Keep’s dusty library pouring over the books and scrolls that had been denied her, and her nights with Alyn. She did not think it was possible to be as happy as she was. She certainly would never have expected it.

When she saw herself in the mirror, she still looked the skinny spit of a girl that she’d looked only a few months before, but her eyes were brighter, her cheeks more flush. Did she imagine it, or were her lips redder as well? They were certainly dryer, and she had to put a balm on them. She told the Grand Maester it was from the winds along the castle walls when she went up to them, but she did not think he believed her.

Elaena wanted for nothing. She was young, she was free, and she was in love. Surely this was the gods way of atoning for her having been locked in the tower for years. Surely it was…

* * *

Princess Baela died while winter was thawing, and Alyn prepared to set sail for Driftmark at once.

“I shall be gone a while,” Elaena overheard him tell Aegon. “It may be best that you find another master of ships until I return.” Elaena’s heart clenched. He could not be gone so long. He could not. She couldn’t bear that he leave her. The very thought made her eyes sting, but she refused to cry. She may look a stick of a girl, but she wasn’t one anymore. She was truly a woman, and Alyn made her feel more her age than anyone else ever could.

“Nonsense,” said Lord Bracken, Aegon’s hand. “Take what time you need with your family, and then come back to your seat. I imagine his Grace’s navy will survive your mourning.”

She couldn’t see Alyn’s face, but she could imagine the twist of his sad smile as he said, “I hope so. I may be gone a while. I may…I may set to sea for a time.”

“Recapture your old self, cousin?” Aegon said, clapping Alyn on the arm. “I’d do the same. Sail for Volantis, or further. Get your blood flowing again.” Elaena glared at Aegon’s back, but couldn’t say anything. _I don’t want you to go so far,_ she thought sadly.

“Perhaps,” Alyn said. “Perhaps…” Lord Bracken and Aegon departed, and Elaena stepped from behind the pillar and followed Alyn down the steps of the keep.

“How long will you be gone?” she asked. She had not dared to ask him before—not when he had looked so devastated at Baela’s death, and not when her own guilt that she’d been in his arms the night that his wife had died crushed her.

He did not turn to look at her. “Sweet Elaena,” he whispered.

“Alyn—please—I… I must know.” She felt like she was whining. She did not like that.

“I do not know,” he whispered. “The rock my life was built on has been swept to sea.”

 _You said you loved me_ , she thought, and blinked again. Why did she feel like weeping? She was stronger than this.

As if he’d heard her thoughts, he turned to her. They were standing in the yard, and there were too many people around for him to take her in his arms, but she could see that he yearned to. “I love you dearly, Elaena,” he said, and his voice was thick, “More than I’d thought it possible to love a woman. But I have known Baela since I was younger than you are now, and she has always been…” he caught his voice. “I would not be who I am without her. You must know that. You must…” he sounded desperate.

“I know,” Elaena whispered. “I know. But what of me? What will I do without you?” And even as she spoke the question, she hated it. Some voice—Daena’s, perhaps, or even her own—echoed the question mockingly in her head. _What will I do without you? Is that all you are? Some shadow waiting for him to love you? I’d thought more of you than that. I’d thought you were clever._

There was that look in his eyes, as though he longed to take her in his arms again, to make her feel safe and loved. She hated that they weren’t in his chambers, or in hers. She hated that he was leaving.

“You’ll read,” he said, “You’ll laugh, and play with your nephew, and counsel your cousin, and smile and dance and forget you ever loved me.”

“Never,” she hissed vehemently. How could she forget him?

“Young girls forget old men all the time,” he said forlornly.

“I’m no young girl, and you’re no old man,” she retorted hotly.

That made him smile. “If you’ve not forgotten me—when I return, I expect we shall wed,” he said. “If the king consents. But that may be a good time hence. I…” he looked away from her, out of the gate towards the city. “I shall miss you, but I must go to sea for a time. To recover myself.”

Elaena nodded, then, remembering he couldn’t see her, said “Of course.”

He looked at her again, and she longed to hold him, but clenched her fists instead. “I shall think of you constantly,” he vowed. “And shan’t be…shan’t be whole again until I see you again, my sweet Elaena.”

“Nor I you,” she said.

He nodded once, then made his way for the gates.

He did not kiss her goodbye.

* * *

“You are with child?” Aegon sounded amused.

“Yes, Your Grace,” Elaena said calmly.

“Well well,” he said, leaning back in his seat. “I suppose even little Elaena’s learned to use what’s between her legs. Clever as ever.” Elaena rolled her eyes. She wondered what her father would say if he knew she were to bear the bastard of his cousin Alyn. She could not picture her father’s face, though. She only saw Alyn’s.

Aegon leaned over in his seat, waving his arm at Daeron. “Have you taken after your father and learned to use your cock at last? Given her a bastard, have you?” He barked a laugh. “Ha. No. I suppose not. You like your little Dornishwoman too much for that, but I bet she’d have you. Wanton like her sister, it seems—knows what a cunt’s good for.”

Elaena resisted rolling her eyes. Instead, she folded her hands in her lap and waited for Aegon to stop laughing at his own words. “Well,” he said, “At least you’re more like Daena than Rhaena, Elaena. I have enough of godly devotion from mine own wife.”

Pride flared in Elaena for just a moment and she looked at her older sister. Daena was smiling at her, proud. She’d told Daena before she told Aegon, and Daena had been pleased. _“Our sons will be the best of friends,”_ she’d said happily.

“So, I take it Lord Oakenfist is the father?” Daeron asked suddenly and Elaena felt the air leave her chest. He was looking at her, his eyes hard. _He does see this as a betrayal, doesn’t he?_ She felt sad for a moment, then angry. _I’m not his. We’re friends and cousins. We were never promised._

 _But how did he know?_ Even Daena had not known. She’d kept it as secret as she could, out of respect for Baela. She’d not parade her husband’s love around court.

“Lord _Oakenfist_?” Aegon burst out laughing. “Surely he’s…”

Elaena did not look away from Daeron, nor did she speak a word. _Silence can be powerful,_ she remembered thinking even as Daena shrieked from the windows. The Maidenvault was powerful still in its silence, looming over her whenever she walked through the bailey.

Daeron flushed, then looked away, abashed.

“Well,” Aegon was still laughing. “He is older than your father, Elaena. Though I suppose your father died while you were so young that hardly matters. Perhaps that is why you like him. Experience to match your innocence. Lucky for you his lady wife is dead, you may make a trueborn of his bastard after all. Though I suppose I could legitimize the babe just to see how Baela’s children would react. How does it feel to have a seahorse growing in that belly of yours?”

“Rather like a dragon, I’d imagine,” she said coolly, and Aegon’s eyebrows shot up and a smile twisted on his lips as he looked between Naerys and Daena.

“You’ll have to compare one day,” he said. “You’d have no way of knowing.”

“You have no shame.” It was not Naerys who said it, but Daena, who was getting to her feet angrily.

“Never, my dear,” Aegon said happily. “I’d have thought you would know that by now. It is what you like in me, is it not? Indomitable. The both of us.”

Daena glared at him, then stormed from the room. Aegon did not follow her, and Elaena glared at him.

“She’ll be back in my bed before the night’s out. And the better for us both. The bedding’s always better when she’s angry.” He let out a laugh then looked at Daeron. “Remember that, boy. The bedding’s always better when she’s afire.”

* * *

 

Elaena’s stomach waxed like the moon, waxed the way Daena’s had waxed in the tower. But her son wouldn’t be born into captivity the way Daemon had been. Her son would be free, like his father, and would be trueborn one day, when she and Alyn were wed. He’d have brothers and sisters on Driftmark, and will know love. Gods, he’d be loved. He’d be her joy, for he was conceived in joy.

When he is born, pink and squawling, she names him Jon. Jon Waters. A temporary name. One day he’ll be Jon Velaryon of Driftmark. He was born one of two—with a sister, just as small and squawling twice as loudly. Elaena named her Jeyne. Jon and Jeyne Waters.

“Why such names? Surely you could have named them something a little more Valyrian,” Daena asked. She sat beside Elaena on the bed, and held Jeyne in her arms.

“Alyn had an uncle named Jon,” Elaena said. “And I like the sound of Jon and Jeyne together. It sounds better than Jon and Daenera, doesn’t it? Jon and Jeyne.”

“Love has turned you poetical, sweet sister,” Daena laughed.

“More delirium,” Elaena sighed and leaned against Daena’s shoulder. Her babes were perfect in her arms, and she could not stop looking at them. Perfect. They had his eyes…

 _He will be back soon,_ she thought. She’d not heard from him since he’d set sail from Driftmark near six months before. _I long to see you, sweet Elaena, and I cannot wait to hold our babe in my arms. But the sea calls me. When her song is sung, I’ll be returned to you as swiftly as the winds will bring me._

She’d heard nothing from him since then. _A daughter and son,_ she thought. _And soon a husband._ She’d never once dreamed of that. She’d never thought it possible, and yet now…

She looked at Daena. Her sister looked tired, and there were creases to her forehead. As far as Elaena knew, she and Aegon still met in the evenings, but her sister seemed less happy of late. _She has not been happy in years_ , Elaena thinks suddenly. When had she last heard her sister laugh, or seen her smile? Not since before the Maidenvault, surely. Even with her own son, she seemed withdrawn…Daena the Defiant. But Baelor had won if she’d not truly ever be happy again.

Elaena looked at her daughter again. _You will be the happiest girl there is,_ she promised little Jeyne. _And no man shall shut you away. You’ll be happy as Daena when we were girls._

* * *

But he didn’t come back. He didn’t. Her babes learned to crawl, and there was no sign of the Oakenfist’s sails on the horizon. And when both Jon and Jeyne could run—run but not yet walk, for running was easier than walking to babes—Elaena let herself cry once, before she stopped looking east for sails.

_He is gone. He isn’t coming back. The sea sang to him, and wouldn’t let him return to me._


	3. Chapter 3

“My cousin Daeron had the right of it.  Conquer the bastards and make them submit to the Iron Throne and finish the work of Aegon.” 

_It was Rhaenys who went to Dorne_ , Elaena almost said, but the king did not like to be corrected.  Instead, she glanced at Daeron her cousin.  She barely remembered her brother, his namesake, but he looked as skeptical as she felt.  

“The Dornish fade into the sand, father,” said Daeron quietly.  “And besides, we are not at war with them.  Do you forget that it was your own cousin Baelor, and your father, who helped arrange my marriage to Mariah?” 

“Better to have fought.  Baelor was too weak to do anything.  Died of starvation like a fool,” Aegon belched, then laughed.  “We’ll have an armada soon enough.  Block off their coast and cut off their legs.” 

“Father, House Martell bears us no ill will.  Such would be an act of unprovoked war,” Daeron said angrily. 

“All war is unprovoked,” Aegon said.  “And I’d thought you’d at least understand, given who your namesake was.” 

“It was in his name that I was _wed_ to my own wife, since war and blood cannot hold Dorne.  Father, this is folly.” 

“You were a folly the night I filled your mother with you,” Aegon said angrily.  A dark look then crossed his face.  “If, of course…” 

Daeron stiffened.  He opened his mouth, then closed it.   

“Don’t say that, Aegon,” Elaena said.  “You don’t mean it.” 

Aegon took another sip of wine, then set his goblet down on the table.  “No. No, I don’t mean it.” 

* * *

“You’re leaving?” Elaena asked the moment the doors opened.  Daeron was sitting in his solar, and Baelor was sitting at his side, dutifully reading a book.  Her cousin looked up, then made a gesture with his head and Baelor got to his feet, closing his book and scurrying away. 

“My father does not heed me, and does not want me around, and every moment I am reminded of that, I wonder what on earth I am doing here.  So yes.  I am leaving.” 

Elaena stared at her cousin.  He was only a few years younger than her, and he had run about with her on that rainy day she had left the tower and now he was going.  Sailing away, like Alyn. 

She sat down, and rested her head on one hand, breathing deeply. 

“I’ll be back,” Daeron said, gently.  He reached out and rested a hand on her shoulder timidly.  “You know I will.  I’ll only be at Dragonstone.  My children will be better off without their father angry with his father all the time, won’t they?” 

Elaena sighed.  “Yes,” she agreed sadly.  “I shall be the worse without you, though.” 

His expression shifted, softened.  “My father does not mind your presence, and might even be tempted to heed your counsel every now and then.” 

“So power is supposed to soothe the ache of absence?  I lose my parents and brothers and and Alyn, and Rhaena to the motherhouse and now you as well?” 

He shifted uncomfortably.  “You have your children,” he reminded her.  “You have Daena.”  

“Children are children,” she said.  “They love me and I love them, and the gods only know how dearly I love my sister, but it’s different than having someone to call a friend, cousin.” 

“I cannot stay here,” Daeron said, pain in his voice.  “I cannot.”  He paused.  “Come with me to Dragonstone.  Mariah would love the company, and our children will play together in the godswood and know peace of mind and not worry about the serpents at court and my father’s bastards.”  There was no denying that Missy’s children were Aegon’s.  But did Daeron know about Daemon?  He was no fool—he might. 

It was a tempting offer.  To sail away from the Red Keep, to leave it behind for a time, and to truly break free.  Alyn had always said there was nothing like the sea, and knowing you can come back, but you can also never return to the same place after having left it for it will have changed, as would you.  She imagined jovial evenings with her cousin and his family and hers, the smell of salt air, the castle that had been her royal grandmother’s seat for so long, and her father’s.  _It knew dragons_ , she thought.  Perhaps she could bring her egg, and hatch it, and then she’d fly and be a dragonrider like Princess Baela… 

But no.  “No,” she said and her heart sank to say it.  “No, your father would fear conspiracy.”  

Daeron sighed.  “Yes,” he agreed.  “So you’ll not be free of this place until he dies, I suppose.” 

“Jon and Jeyne would miss Daenerys.” 

“Invite my…no.  You could not invite my mother no more than you could join me.”  Daeron made a pained face.  “Aegon the Unworthy.  He gets child after child on the ladies of the land, but his own family cannot be free of him.” 

“Was it you who came up with that name?” Elaena asked, and Daeron flushed. “Guard your tongue, cousin,” she said.  “You’ll make a great king one day, if you live so long.” 

* * *

 

“You wished to see me, Your Grace?” Elaena approached Aegon as he came down from the hill, his hawk on his wrist.   

“Ah yes,” he said, “Cousin.  Walk with me.”  He passed the hawk to one of his squires and extended his arm to Elaena.  

Her cousin was tall, and comely.  His cheeks were flush from the exercise and from the wineskin that his squire had carried with him up the hill from the tent.  Arm in arm, Elaena and Aegon walked together down the hill back to the tent where Daena sat and Missy Blackwood held court over those who had joined the king on his outing.  Naerys was with child again, and had remained in the Keep, but so long as Missy was there, no one dared remark upon her absence.  What did it matter if the queen was not present if the King’s favored was with them?  Especially not as his cousins were present as well.  Daemon played with Jon and Jeyne and the little princess Daenerys, all of them were chasing puppies behind the tent, with hardly a care in the world.    

“I’d see you wed,” Aegon said. 

Elaena raised her eyebrows at him.  “And who would have me, Your Grace?  I’m despoiled.”  She’d been glad of that.  It had been a comfort to her when no word of Alyn returned.  _At least no other man will have me.  At least my children will know no other father._  

“You’re a fine looking woman, Elaena,” Aegon said, eyeing her up and down.  “Those babes of yours finally gave you breasts.”  Elaena resisted rolling her eyes.  Aegon had only ever really cared for breasts, so his comment hardly surprised her.  “And there are men who won’t care if their wife is despoiled so long as she’s fertile, and you with the dragon’s blood.” 

“What old lord have you sold me to, cousin?” Elaena asked, and Aegon barked a laugh. 

“Ever clever,” he said, trying to sound fond, but his smile looked more a leer.  “Lord Ossifer Plumm would have you, if you’ll serve your king and take his hand.  I imagine he’s not long for this world, so as long as he gets a son on you, you’ll have the rest of your life to live in peace with the heir to the whole Plumm fortune to call your own.” 

“And how many mines does Lord Plumm have?” Elaena asked.  She already knew the answer, but wondered if Aegon had thought to ask in case he needed to sate his greed. 

“What does it matter?  Lord Plumm’s near as rich as Lord Lannister, I’ve heard it said.” So he did not know.  _He bothers little with the throne,_ she remembered Daeron saying one evening over wine.  _He is lust and gluttony incarnate.  Soon he’ll lose his looks, I promise you cousin._  

Already, the king was starting to bald, and she did see the beginnings of paunch at his waist, though not enough to be noticeable if one wasn’t looking.  But she was quite sure it would turn to fat sooner rather than later.   

“And will my bastards see an ounce of his gold?” Elaena asked.  She’d not wed if it meant that her Jon and Jeyne would not benefit from it.  She would never be so poor a mother.   

“I’m sure you could persuade him,” shrugged Aegon, uncaring.  “Consider it, cousin.” 

“Does it matter if I consider it?” Elaena asked almost acidly. 

“No,” smiled Aegon.  “Your king shall command you regardless.”  He patted her on the rear and strode into the tent and sat down next to Missy.   

Elaena gave Daena a look, and her sister got to her feet.  She looked pale. 

“Are you well?” Elaena asked her sister, and Daena forced a smile that did not reach her eyes.  

“Well enough.  What’s amiss?” 

“Aegon wishes to wed me to Ossifer Plumm,” Elaena told Daena. 

Daena made a face.  “I’d hoped he wouldn’t,” she sighed. 

“You knew?” Elaena asked. 

“I hear things, and half of what he says in jest is merely jest, but sometimes he means it for true,” Daena said.  “You’re still young.  Only five and twenty.  You could wed, and have more sons,” she said.  “Trueborn sons,” Daena added. 

“He could command you to do it,” Elaena said pointedly. 

“He wouldn’t dare,” Daena said.  “Besides…” she glanced over at Aegon who was drinking wine from Missy Blackwood’s goblet.  “Even if I was never his favorite, he’d not let another have me.”  She sounded more as though she wanted to believe it than that she truly did.  _He put her aside.  He put Daena aside._ It was hardly new, but it still upset Daena.  _Everything upsets Daena._ Once she would have raged.  Now she just seemed tired. 

“I do not wish to wed,” Elaena sighed. 

“I know,” Daena said.  “I’d not truly wish to wed anyone either.”  She looked at Aegon. 

“Do you truly love him?” Elaena heard herself ask and Daena cast her a sideways glance.  She looked stung. 

“No one knows me better,” Daena said quietly.  Once it might have been hot, angry.  But instead she merely sounded tired.  Elaena frowned. 

“Are you sure you feel well, sister?” she asked. 

Daena smiled.  “As fit as a fiddle,” Daena said.  She coughed.  “Just a spring cough.” 

Elaena did not believe her. 

* * *

 

Ossifer Plumm was very old.  His hands were spotted and veiny, and his beard was a wispy white and there was hair growing from his ears.  “Just your type, cousin—to remind you of your departed father,” Aegon hissed in her ear and she would have stepped on his foot had he not continued to walk towards Lord Plumm.   

“Welcome, welcome, Lord Ossifer,” he boomed.  How Aegon could boom.  They stood in such contrast the two of them.  The old stooped lord and the handsome younger king.  _If he weren’t so comely, he’d be unbearable_ , Elaena thought.  _If Daena didn’t care for him…_  

Daena looked resplendent as Lord Ossifer kissed her hand.  She was pale, her cheeks and lips red, her hair flying free as it had when they’d been girls.  Daemon stood at her side, garbed as befit a prince of the blood.  Daeron stood off to the side, arm in arm with Mariah.  _He should be at Aegon’s side.  He is Aegon’s heir, not Daemon._ Daemon had a toy sword at his belt, and Aegon had been heard to say how the boy took after him.  He’d yet to formally acknowledge Daemon, but there couldn’t be a fool at court who did not know the truth of it, given how openly he doted on him. _That will be trouble one day._ She wondered if Daeron thought so as well, or if her younger cousin did his best to ignore it. 

“Your Grace,” Lord Ossifer said, his voice tremulous.  “I thank you for your hospitality.  And—ah—the Princess…” 

“My sweet cousin Elaena,” Aegon said, resting a hand on Elaena’s shoulder.  “Quite comely, I think you’ll agree.  And she’s the cleverest of her sisters, they’ll all have agreed.  You’ll never want for conversation.” 

_It’s like I’m a horse he’s selling,_ Elaena thought.  _Save that I’ve already been sold._  

“Lord Ossifer,” Elaena said, dipping into a curtsey.  “I trust the travels did not cause you ill?” 

“How could they, when I know what a lovely bride awaits me,” Lord Ossifer said.  He extended a hand and she took it and he bent slowly to press his lips to her hand.  “Tell me, where are your children?” 

The question warmed Elaena, and she looked into his eyes.  They were a clear green, and seemed devoid of ulterior motive as best she could identify, and she smiled.  She turned, and called to them, and Jon and Jeyne scampered over in their best blue standing on either side of her.  Ossifer looked down at them. 

“Such lovely faces,” he said.  “Such smiles.  A handsome boy and a pretty girl.”  He sounded like he’d never seen a child before.  Jeyne flushed and buried her face in her mother’s skirt while Jon looked down at his boots.  “And soon we’ll have some of our own,” he said happily.  “Would you like that?” he asked Jon and Jeyne.  “A little brother and sister to play with?” 

“Daemon is like my brother,” Jon piped up.  “And Daenerys like a sister.  But I don’t like being the youngest.” 

Elaena chuckled and rested her hand on Jon’s head.   

“Well, soon you shan’t be!” Ossifer announced.  “Two months hence, I imagine your mother will already have a babe in the belly.” 

_Ah yes, for you care so much that I’m the clever one,_ Elaena thought behind her smile.  He was old, and had no heir.  Of course he’d think first of her fertile womb.   

“I will leave my cousin to the preparations,” Aegon said.  “You’ll find her most capable in every capacity,” he added to Lord Ossifer.  “She will run your castle better than whatever castellan serves you now.” 

Elaena glanced at Aegon, almost confused.  He was not one to compliment her mind over her breasts, and yet… 

But he was turning away, brushing past Daena and Daeron and Naerys.  He paused to speak to Missy Blackwood, before continuing out of the hall. 

* * *

 

Lord Ossifer was…old.  For all Aegon had japes aplenty about Alyn having been older than her father, Lord Ossifer was something else entirely.  Where Alyn had seemed full of life and experience, Lord Ossifer wheezed and walked slowly.  Alyn had been muscled.  Lord Ossifer was plump and flabby.  Alyn had filled her with fire.  She supposed she’d have to find some of her own to enjoy Lord Ossifer in bed.  She did her best not to think of what their nights together would be like. 

“I’ll manage,” she sighed to Daena one afternoon.  “I just wish Aegon had found another to wed him to is all.” 

“He’s not unkind,” Daena said.  “Be grateful of that.  And he seems pliable.  You should have no trouble bending him to your will.” 

“Yes,” Elaena sighed.  “I know.” 

“He will be our father?” Jeyne asked, and Daemon laughed.   

“He’s _ugly_ ,” Daemon said. 

“ _Daemon_ ,” Daena berated, but Jeyne stuck her tongue out at her cousin, and reached for a grape.   

“I’ve not had a father before,” she said.  “Will he be a good one, mother?” 

“I think so, love,” Elaena said as Daena coughed.  It wasn’t a delicate cough, not the sort of dainty, hiding a laugh cough.  It sounded as though she couldn’t breathe, and Elaena turned to look at her, alarmed.  She reached out a hand to rest on Daena’s back. 

“I’m fine,” Daena said, but she did not look it.   

“Daemon, bring your mother some wine,” Elaena commanded, and Daemon slid off his seat to do so.  Daena took the cup from her son and drank deeply, eyes closed.  Then she reached for a napkin to dry her lips.   

Blood and wine stained the white linen. 

* * *

 

“Princess!” There was a banging on the door, and Elaena jolted awake.  Beside her, Jeyne and Jon stirred in their sleep. 

“Mother?” Jon asked, but she hushed him as she climbed from the bed, finding a bedrobe to wear before she went and opened the door, finding Aemon on the other side. 

“Cousin?” she asked him. 

“It’s Daena,” he said in a low voice.  She closed the door behind her and hurried down the hallway, her feet bare against the stone.  Aemon followed her, the sounds of his boots echoing through the quiet. 

She pushed open the door to Daena’s bedchamber and found her sister lying there, coughing blood, pale as a corpse.  “No,” she heard herself say and she launched herself at her sister.  “No, no no.  Daena.”   

She felt tears prick at her eyes and she clung to her sister, burying her head against her sister’s neck. 

“Elaena,” Daena gulped between coughs. 

“Please, Daena.  Please,” Elaena begged.  Her sister wouldn’t deny her anything.  Daena never had.  Surely, if she pleaded, Daena the Defiant would defy death. 

But she didn’t.  For three long hours, Elaena lay there next to Daena, as she coughed up more and more blood, and when she stopped coughing at last, her chest did not rise and fall anymore.   

Elaena had not wept when Baelor had died.  She’d not known to weep for Daeron, and her father and mother…she had been too young to understand what their dying had meant.  She’d wept for Alyn, but for his distance, for the unknown, for losing hope that he’d ever return to her—not for his dying.   

But she wept now.  She clung to her sister’s body and wept, for the world was a darker place without Daena, and Elaena…Elaena did not like it one bit. 

* * *

 

Elaena always wore black, ever since she’d been a little girl.  She’d done it because Daena had gone through a period when she’d only worn black, and Elaena, ever wanting to be Daena, had done the same.  She’d not forgone it when Daena had switched back to colors though.  She liked black. 

So she was more than prepared for mourning.  As she walked beside Aegon through the keep, she wore her favorite black gown, one that Daena had said made her look formidable with a nod of approval.  They did not bring Daena’s body to Baelor’s great sept for burning.  Daena would not have wanted it.  She was sure that Uncle Viserys would have ignored that, and had her brought across the city anyway, but perhaps in a rare moment of respect, Aegon commanded that Daena’s cremation be held in the red keep.  They burned her in the small sept, a private, quiet thing.  Elaena held Daemon’s hand as he wept for his mother, all appearances of being the bold brave boy that he was gone from his mind now that his mother was gone.   

Elaena did not cry now.  She had cried all her tears, and was beyond grief, and as the Septon spoke, trying to find words that were both true and respectful of Daena, Elaena could not look away from her sister’s face.  Her sister was peaceful in death.  _You’ll be free, sister,_ Elaena thought sadly.  _Free of everything now._  

She sat quietly in her solar when it was done.  Jon and Jeyne and Daenerys and Daemon were all together with Septa Beony to take care of them.  Elaena wondered if the septa knew Rhaena.  _I should write Rhaena._ Elaena reached for a quill, and parchment, and tried to think of what to say. Elaena had not written her in years.   

_Dear Rhaena,_ she began.  _Dear Rhaena, by now you will have heard that Daena has died.  I am sorry you did not hear the words from me.  I have not been myself these past few days.  She died in my arms, and I…_ She couldn’t think.  She couldn’t breathe.  She could still hear Daena’s coughing. 

There was a knock on the door, and she looked at it, startled.  Before she could even think to ask who it was on the other side of the door, it opened and Aegon came in, carrying three bottles of wine and looking thoroughly miserable.   

“Thought you might want company,” he said, and offered her one of the bottles.  She took it, and pulled the cork out and drank directly from it. 

“You’re still making me marry in a month?” she asked, knowing the answer. 

“Lord Plumm fears he may not live long enough to see you past your mourning,” Aegon said. 

Elaena drank again.  “He wouldn’t.  I’ll never not mourn her.” 

“Nor I,” Aegon said. 

Elaena looked at him sharply.  “You’ve had Barba Bracken, and Missy Blackwood, and your Braavosi pearl and how many others since Daena?  Your _great loves_ , but never my sister who bore your son.” 

Aegon drank from his bottle as well.  Sitting, he looked even fatter than he did standing.   

“Your tongue is sharper than my knife, cousin,” Aegon sighed.  “You’d best learn to sheath it lest your husband take it ill.” 

“My husband should have a skin thick enough for my tongue or else he’s an inferior man.  Daena taught me that.” 

Aegon flinched.  “I loved her,” he said. 

“You’d a funny way of showing it.” 

“Not all love is shown the same way.” 

“So you taking other women to bed after she bore you your bastard was your way of showing love?” Elaena snapped. 

“Daena loved me for who I am, and I’m not one to hover over a dainty maid, and find myself besotted.  She loved me and I loved her,” he insisted again.  “I was her freedom when she was in chains, and she gave me my son for it.  It’s true—I may not have loved her as I have loved Missy.  What of it?  Daena did not wish to be loved that way—not by me, anyway.”  He looked at Elaena.  “Am I not allowed to miss a dear cousin?” 

“She was more than your cousin and you know it.” 

“Yes,” he said simply.  “More than you, cousin.  Always more than you, and Rhaena with her sweet teats.”  He shrugged.  “She had of me what she wanted, and I had of her what I wanted.  There was love in that.  You cannot say I did not care for her.  Nor can you claim I do not miss her.” 

Elaena looked at him.  He did look miserable.  “Don’t send me away, Elaena,” he said quietly.  “Missy won’t understand.  She did not know Daena well.” 

“You could go to your wife or brother.”  _Aemon was there when she died.  Where were you?_  

Aegon shuddered.  “Don’t send me away.” 

Elaena sighed, and drank again.  Aegon did as well.  “There’ll never be anyone else like her,” she said.  “Can we agree on that at least?” 

Elaena raised the bottle of wine in a toast, and then drank deeply from it.  It was true.  No one could ever be like Daena, no one could ever replace her—not ever.  She leaned against her cousin, and he wrapped an arm around her shoulder.  She was glad he’d come.  She was glad not to be alone. 

* * *

 

When Elaena had imagined the day she was to be wed, she’d imagined Alyn at her side and being cloaked in the blue of house Velaryon.  She’d imagined her children—Jon and Jeyne Velaryon, and when she and her husband went to their bed together, it would be far from the Maidenvault.  They’d sail for Driftmark and Elaena would taste the salt spray of the water that Alyn had said was one of the most important parts of sailing the seas.   

Instead, she stood at Lord Ossifer’s side, doing her best not to think, as she recited the Maiden’s prayer, that she was hardly a maiden, and that Lord Ossifer’s own king had taken her to bed the night before.  _I shouldn’t have_ , she thought as she recited words that Baelor had once made her say thrice daily in hopes that it would keep her from sin.  But she’d been lonely, and she’d missed Daena, and Aegon…Aegon was there.  _I do not love him_.  She could not.  But he was there, and she could forget how alone she was when he was inside her.   

_Best to think of me on the morrow,_ Aegon had japed as he’d dressed himself last night.  _Elsewise you’ll not even be able to pretend that your husband is pleasing to you._ He’d chuckled as he’d left.  _Ass_ , she’d thought bitterly. 

Lord Ossifer swore to protect her, and wrapped his yellow and purple cloak about her and when he kissed her, his lips were too wet to be truly comfortable, but that was it.  It was all done.  _Princess Elaena, Lady Plumm_ , she thought as she turned to face the applauding watchers.  She knelt as Jon and Jeyne ran into her arms, holding them close.  This—at least—she’d imagined once or twice in the earlier days after Alyn had set sail and she’d known she was with child.  This, at least, was as she intended. 

She danced with Aegon and with Daeron (Lord Ossifer was too old to dance and said he’d be content to watch her) and she drank her fill of wine and ate her fill of the stuffed partridge that the stewards had prepared for dinner.  The night wore on, and Elaena felt almost as though she were in a dream, though not the good sort of dream.  The kind of dream where she felt as though everyone else was alive and she was not, as though she were some ghost at her own wedding. 

She was still in that dreamlike state when Aegon called for her to be brought to her marriage bed, and thought she should perhaps notice more the way in which the men of the court tore her wedding dress from her and made comments about her breasts and the thatch of pale hair between her legs.  _Drunk_ , she thought.  _I’ve had too much wine.  I’m merely drunk._ But she knew it wasn’t true. 

Into the bed she was thrown and moments later her old, naked, fat husband hobbled into the bedchamber.  His breath also stank of wine, and as he clambered on top of her, he whispered words of love—words Alyn had once whispered to her, words that she might even have heard from Aegon’s lips in the more ecstatic parts of his thrusting.  He was breathing hard, and all Elaena could think of was Aegon’s _best_ _you think of me_ , but she didn’t _want_ to think of Aegon, she wanted to think of _Alyn._ She tried to summon his face—his kind blue eyes, the strength of his hands as he held her to him, and she closed her eyes to hide Ossifer’s face, but she could not hide the stink of his breath, so unlike Alyn’s and— 

Ossifer made a sound and for a moment, she thought he was done, for he collapsed on top of her.   

But the angle was odd, and instead of breathing hard, he wasn’t breathing at all. 

Elaena blinked once, then twice, and for the first time since she’d said her vows, she felt as though she _were_ alive.  The only one alive in the room, in fact. 

There wasn’t anything funny about it at all, but she heard her own laughter bubbling forth from her lips.  Daena, and Alyn, her parents and Daeron and Baelor, and now even Ossifer.  _But I still live_.   

She laughed, and laughed, and laughed. 

She pushed him off her, still laughing and pinched her cheeks as she found a robe to try and make the laughter stop.  It didn’t work, but that didn’t matter.  She saw herself in the mirror and there were tears streaming down her face and her laughter…no she was laughing, wasn’t she?  It sounded choked, and shrill, but surely it was laughter and not tears? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in posting this chapter. Combination of traveling without my computer and then wifi struggles!


	4. Chapter 4

Little Lord Plumm was born, hale and hearty just as promised. Elaena named him Viserys to honor the King’s father, and her uncle, who had always been so good to her and to whom her son bore a striking likeness as he grew. He had a fine nose, and silvery hair with light violet eyes.

Jon was fiercely protective of his little brother, which relieved Elaena. Though her firstborn son was a bastard, he seemed to hold little ill-will for the brother who would one day have a great keep and rich mines in the Westerlands.

Jeyne and Daenerys doted upon him, and even some of Aegon’s other bastards—Missy’s children—enjoyed playing with her small son as he learned to toddle about and speak and play.

But not Daemon. Daemon looked at his little cousin warily. “He is your blood,” Elaena said, taking him in her arms and trying to be the mother to him that Daena had been, but Daemon shrugged her away.

“I know, Aunt,” he said, plaintively, not liking being reprimanded. _Daena never reprimanded him, and Aegon certainly does not._ Aegon loved Daena’s son best of all his children, even Daeron, his trueborn heir. Aegon was certainly fond of little Viserys. He liked babes, well enough, but he was never unduly or unseemly warm with her son. _Does Daemon sense it, though?_ She wondered.

She tried not to wonder. She did her best not to.

* * *

Elaena jerked awake to the sound of shrieks and bellows.

“Mama?” Jeyne asked her. “Mama I’m frightened. What’s—?”

“Hush, love,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to her daughter’s head. “You’re safe here.” She found a bedrobe and left the room, finding a guard at the door.

“Are there more of you?” she asked him. She should have a knight of the kingsguard. Where were they?

“Princess,” the guard began, but she cut him off, not wanting to hear anymore.

“If anything befalls my children I swear you will burn and wish you had so peaceful a death as my grandmother.” She swept away, hurrying down the stairs towards the shouts.

The closer she got, the more she heard begging. “Please. _Please_ , Aegon, you _know_ I love you. _Please!”_ It was the Bracken girl—the other Bracken girl. His lovely Bethany. Elaena’s heart sank.

“Are you saying you were _forced_ , Bethany, because I know the sound of your love, and it didn’t sound _forced_!” Aegon bellowed. Elaena could not understand Bethany’s response so thick were her sobs.

She found them in the bailey. Two knights of the Kingsguard were strapping leather cuffs to Ser Terrence Toyne’s arms and legs. The knight was gagged, and naked, and Bethany, poor Bethany, was disrobed as well.

“You’ll watch him,” Aegon bellowed. “You’ll not look away.”

“Aegon _please_ ,” sobbed Bethany. Elaena almost went to her. The girl was not nearly so cool as her sister Barba, but all the same…

Elaena took a step forward, then felt a hand on her shoulder. She looked around and saw her cousin Aemon. He looked tired. “There’s nothing you can do,” said the Dragonknight. “Any comfort you give her…”

 _I know_ , Elaena thought. She looked at the Bracken girl. _You stupid thing. You should have waited until he didn’t want you anymore. Any wise girl would do the same._

Aegon held Bethany’s head as Ser Terrence was strapped to four horses and the horses were set in different directions and Elaena…Elaena watched Bethany’s stricken face. _Poor stupid girl,_ was all she could think. _Poor_ stupid _girl._

* * *

“Aunt?” Daemon asked her one afternoon as they sat in the godswood. Elaena was reading, and he was practicing his swordplay while the other children were playing. He was growing taller each day.

She looked up from her book and he came to stand over her. “Why do you always read?”

“Reading keeps the mind agile,” she said.

“But you’re a woman. Why do you need an agile mind?”

Elaena looked at him. “You’ve been listening to the king too much,” she said quietly. “Your mother used to strike bulls-eyes into a target with her bow. Many would say that is not the way of a woman, yet she was better than many men.” She felt warm thinking of Daena. Daemon still adored his mother.

He frowned. “That was different. My mother was Daena the Defiant. The _Defiant_. You’re just Elaena. Elaena the nothing.”

“Is that what the king calls me?” she asked, amused.

Daemon flushed. “No,” he mumbled. “He does not speak of you.”

“Oh really? Lying is unbecoming and your mother wouldn’t have it.”

Daemon looked down at his feet. “He says your tongue is too sharp and you think yourself cleverer than he. That you’re better tending to your brood.” _And to think once he praised my sharp tongue to my betrothed_ , Elaena thought, half amused and not anywhere near surprised.

“I am tending to my brood,” she said, looking out over the godswood. Viserys was toddling after his brother and sister and her little cousin Daenerys was weaving a crown out of the springtime daisies that had sprouted in the grass. “And reading while I do so. I can do both at once, Daemon.”

“You can?” he sounded almost surprised.

“Yes,” Elaena said almost laughing. “I exist to surprise men who think little of women. Don’t think little of women, or you’ll disappoint your mother. She fought long and hard to bring you into the world, and make you better than any man there was.”

Daemon nodded, but he was frowning. “The king says women are fickle.”

“The king is bitter over Lady Bethany,” Elaena said carefully. “Not all women are so fickle.” _Poor little fool. And here I still love Alyn…_

“You loved Lord Alyn, and then Lord Ossifer.” _And let us not forget your father._

“And the king has loved thrice as many women, if not more. It is not a sex that is fickle, it is a person.”

“Oh,” Daemon said. He didn’t sound like he believed her. _He spends too much time with Aegon_ , she thought. She looked over at Viserys, suddenly grateful her boy seemed to escape the king’s notice. Daemon followed her gaze, his frown deepening.

* * *

She heard it first from Daemon’s lips. “Besides, Prince Daeron’s not even  _truly_ the King’s son.”

“What did you just say?” Elaena demanded, eyes wide.

Daemon looked at her surprised. “It’s the truth! I’d have thought you would have known. The whole court is talking of it. Prince Daeron is Prince Aemon’s bastard. Ser Morgil says so.”

 _Ser Morgil will have a case of sword in the bowels if Prince Aemon hears of it_ , she thought, going cold. “It is a falsehood, Daemon. I’d thought better of you than spreading such falsehoods.”

Daemon rolled his eyes. “What of it? There’s nothing wrong with being a bastard. I’m one. Your own children are.”

“And your cousin Daeron is not one. The Queen is pious and faithful and would never take anyone but her husband to her bed.” _And even him, she did not want._ She remembered all too well Naerys and Rhaena together, whispering how they’d rather be septas than wives. Rhaena got her wish. Naerys had not. But no—she did not like thinking of the tower.

“The king says—” Daemon said.

“The king says many things, and not all of them are true. Just because he is king doesn’t mean he is right,” Elaena said sharply.

“And just because you read doesn’t mean _you_ are,” the boy said acidly.

“Watch your tongue. You may have a gift with a sword, but you are still my nephew, and still a boy,” Elaena said.

Daemon glared at her. “You’re not my mother.”

“No. I’m the closest thing now that my sister is dead. And were I you I’d learn _humility_.” _Aegon builds him up too highly._ Not for the first time, she wished she could get her nephew away from his father. _Aegon hasn’t even acknowledged him._ The thought was chilling. _He’s biding his time. Waiting for…gods be good._

Daemon was glaring at her. _I make him angrier with every word I say_ , she thought. _I lose him. To Aegon._

_Or have I already lost him?_

_This is what Daena wanted—her son acknowledged. Why do I not want it too?_

_I do…just not like this. This isn’t right. This isn't how it should be._

* * *

 

Ser Morgil did get a case of sword through the bowels, and Prince Aemon showed him no mercy in the duel for the queen Naerys’ honor, but the rumors did not cease. _Nor will they,_ Elaena knew. She thought of Daeron, far away on Dragonstone, and wished he would return.

* * *

“Aunt Elaena, Aunt Elaena!” the door to her bedchamber burst open and Elaena sat up quickly.

“What’s wrong, Daemon?” she asked him.

“Prince Aemon is dead. And the Toyne brothers—they are too. They tried to kill the king!” There’s an odd excitement to his face. “Prince Aemon died defending the king, and he slew one brother and wounded the other enough that Ser Brynden was able to kill him.”

Viserys sat up in the bed, rubbing his eyes, and Jeyne and Jon crawled to the edge of it to be closer to their cousin.

“When did this happen?” Elaena asked Daemon.

“Last night. Prince Aemon’s body is in the sept, and the queen prays for him now.”

“Prince Aemon? What happened to him?” Viserys asked.

“He died, you stupid. Didn’t you hear what I said?” Daemon snapped.

“Daemon,” Elaena said sharply, but it was too late and Viserys started to cry.

“I’m not stupid,” her son wept.

“No, hush love. You’re not,” Elaena said, kissing the top of his head. “Come on now, love. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.”

“Yes, don’t cry, Viserys,” Jon said, crawling back across the bed to hug his brother. Elaena’s heart swelled at her oldest son.

She heard the door slam shut and when she looked again, Daemon was gone.

She dressed her children, and brought them down to the sept where Prince Aemon’s body lay. She knelt beside Naerys, whose face was covered in tears.

“I know your misery now,” Naerys said quietly.

“My misery?” Elaena asked. She thought of Alyn.

“When Daena died.”

Elaena took her cousin’s hand. “He was brave,” she said to him.

“The best man in the kingdoms,” Naerys sobbed. “And now I’ve no one. My son is gone and…and…”

“You have me,” Elaena said quietly, but Naerys shook her head.

“You know not what you say,” Naerys said. “You know not what you say.” She released Elaena’s hand and reached for her copy of the Seven Pointed Star. She opened it, and began to pray. _If I were Rhaena, I’d know what to say_. It had been far too long since she’d thought of her sister. Rhaena was in the Vale, serving as Septa to the children of Lord Arryn. _Perhaps she can come and visit Naerys for a time?_ But she doubted it. If her vows would not allow it, Rhaena would not come. Rhaena had always thrived in rules.

Elaena stood and went to Prince Aemon’s body. He was pale, and dressed in white, and looked younger in death than ever she’d known him in life. _You fought with Daeron in Dorne_ , she thought. _And carried Baelor back from it. I did not know you nearly well enough._

After a time, a septa ushered her children away, and she stayed, thinking. It did not hurt, oddly, that Aemon was dead. It was no knife to her gut as Daena’s death had been, or even Daeron’s departure. She felt sad, but not as sadly as she should for the death of a cousin.

Aegon came to the sept near nightfall, and said a quick prayer. He didn’t say a word to Naerys before he turned and left. _She’s your sister, if barely your wife, you could comfort her. You comforted me after Daena died._ And Elaena felt herself moving.

“Do you hate them so much?” she hissed at him when they were outside the sept.

He glared at her. “Don’t you dare judge me. You didn’t mourn Baelor and he was your brother as much as Aemon is mine.”

“And Daena was my sister as Naerys is yours.”

“If only Naerys was half so faithful to me as Daena was to you,” he spat.

“She was never disloyal and you know it,” Elaena said, thinking once again of her cousin Daeron.

“In heart if not in body,” he said bitterly. “That boy isn’t mine.”

“He is.”

“In body, not in heart,” Aegon said. “In heart he’s Aemon’s. Like his mother. Only Daemon’s my true—”

“Daeron is your heir.”

“I’m the king. I can choose my own heir.”

“He is _your flesh_ , _your son_ , Aegon.”

“As Viserys is Lord Ossifer Plumm’s?”

Elaena gaped at him, the weight of his words washing over her.

“You wouldn’t,” she hissed.

“Do not cross me, Elaena. Don’t you dare cross me.”

* * *

And so she was back in the tower. Or rather, the tower was back around her, had expanded beyond the maidenvault and stood the length of her neck, choking off every word and thought. She could not do anything, no matter how she tried, and Aegon would not listen to her. Where she would council him, he brushed past her. She was not Daena, she was stupid little baby Elaena, and she’d come so far, and wanted…wanted…

She wanted, but what she wanted mattered little when the King held all the power and she had none of it. It felt as though the very air she breathed belonged to Aegon, for as long as he held any power at all over her, she was not free, and any word coming out of her mouth went unheeded, for there was never any reasoning with Aegon. There never had been.

_Baelor locked me away, and Aegon does the same. He will not hear me as Baelor would not see me._

She wished Alyn were alive, she wished Daena were alive, she wished Rhaena and Daeron weren’t far away. But wishing did little. Instead she read, poring through the master of coin’s records from her grandmother’s days. She spent her time with her sons and daughter.   And she tried—tried as best she could to keep Daemon.

But she could not keep him away from the king. No matter how hard she tried. He wasn’t her son, after all.

When he was twelve, he won a melee, and Aegon gave him the sword Blackfyre, and announced to the court that it was he who had fathered Daena’s child. “My true…son,” he said. And Elaena looked at Viserys. He was tall as her hip, now, and frightened of his cousin Daemon who still mocked him bitterly. _Daena, you got your wish,_ Elaena thought sadly. _I must be happy in that, at least…_

But she could not find it in her to be.

* * *

Elaena sat with Queen Naerys the whole night as she labored to breathe. She held her cousin’s hand and wished she knew what to say. She had been closer to Naerys in her youth than she was now. Her cousin was sweet, but had always been closer to Rhaena than to her.  _And now she is dying._ She thought of Daeron, who knew his mother was ill, but his detestation of his father trumped his love for his mother and so he had not returned to King’s Landing. She wondered…had he ever sat with someone who lay dying? Had he sat with Baelor? He had not been there with her when Daena died.

_Nor was Rhaena. It was just me, and Aemon_. She wondered what Aemon might have said to sooth Naerys. She wondered if anyone could do anything to soothe Naerys as she wheezed.

Elaena looked at the ceiling. _She loved you, you gods,_ she thought, wondering if any of them would listen to her. She couldn’t remember when last she prayed. _She loved you and would have served you as Rhaena does had she been allowed. Can’t you make this easier for her?_

But the gods were silent. Perhaps it didn’t count if you didn’t say their words their way. If Elaena had learned one thing in her life, it was that people liked to hear what they wanted to here.

She got to her knees. It was in kneeling that she felt old. Her knees creaked and ached when they connected to the floor. She began to sing quietly.

_Gentle Mother, strength of women_

_Help our daughters through this fray_

_Soothe the wrath and tame the fury,_

Naerys coughed, and gasped, but joined in the last line

_Teach us all a kinder way_ _._


	5. Chapter 5

“Cousin.” It was good to see Daeron’s face as his retinue entered the bailey. Mariah’s hair was windswept and Baelor—

“You’ve grown so tall,” she said, surprised. She shouldn’t be surprised, of course. Daemon was near as tall as his nephew and they were near enough an age. Baelor was sturdier than his father, and looked as though he spent hours in the practice yard each day, rather than hours in the study.

“It is good to see you, cousin Elaena,” Baelor said dutifully, bowing awkwardly.

“And you as well, Baelor,” she said, then turned back to Daeron. He was truly there—it was not a dream. He had returned. “I trust the voyage was smooth?”

“No storms,” Daeron said, shrugging. He turned to look at Mariah, who was straightening Maekar’s tunic which had gotten twisted in the box that had brought them from the keys.

“It’s _fine_ , mother!” Maekar insisted plaintively.

“Jon, and Jeyne, and Viserys are well?” Daeron asked.

Elaena inclined her head. “They are with the Grand Maester now, though they wished to be out to greet your children’s arrival.”

“They’ll spend enough time together soon,” Daeron said. Then he glanced back at her. There was an odd expression to his eyes, which he shook away with a smile. “It’s good to see you.”

“And you.”

Daeron offered her his arm, and she took it and they entered the keep together.

“I trust my father wasn’t too…”

“His grace was ever genial,” she said, not bothering to keep the triteness from her voice. She needn’t pretend with Daeron. “And his presence shall be sorely missed.”

Daeron nodded. “I’ve heard…” he glanced around. Only Baelor was with them, a few steps behind, suddenly looking unsure if he should have followed them. Daeron observed his son for just a moment, then said. “It’s not true—Blackfyre. Some of the lords think it was a sign…”

Elaena’s grip tightened on her cousin’s arm. His son was right behind them, but he was fourteen, Daemon’s own age. He was old enough to know. “You know as well as I that it was Aegon who started the rumors. Perhaps he did mean for Daemon to be his heir. It matters not. He is dead.” And Daena’s son would never be king. Daena had so wanted her son… but the older Elaena grew, the less sure how she felt about Daemon on the throne if it meant that Daeron could not sit it. “You are his son. His _trueborn_ son. His _only_ trueborn son. When the High Septon sets a crown on your head, let it be your father’s, that the lords of the land will know what line you come from. Aegon was a sot and a fool. You’re his son, but you’ve never been his.”

She squeezed Daeron’s arm again, as he nodded, his brow furrowed. He was listening to her intently, and Elaena felt her chest expand. He was _listening_ to her. Just as he always had. He’d had no change of heart on Dragonstone. “You’re not alone, cousin. This is not like when Daena tried to claim the throne. You have friends.”

She smiled at him, and Daeron smiled back hesitantly.

* * *

Daeron’s coronation in Baelor’s great sept was full of color. Queen Mariah had invited friends from her youth in Dorne, and many courtiers who had fallen from favor during Aegon’s reign returned to celebrate his son’s ascending to the crown.

There were banners from all over the kingdoms, and men and women wearing bright colors to celebrate the new king’s ascent, nearly all of them eschewing their mourning blacks save Daemon, and Elaena, who wore black more for habit than anything else.

The festivities lasted three days—a modest amount in truth, and at the end of them, wearing his father’s crown, Daeron quietly dismissed his father’s council in its entirety save the Lord Commander and the Grand Maester, and Lord Butterwell who had been his father's master of coin and who he raised to be his hand.

“They let him rule as he did,” Daeron said to Elaena. “So I have no need of them. I need a good Hand.  Butterwell will suffice for the time being, but I'm hardly thrilled with him.  And as for the rest—someone who knows the structure of the realm for master of laws, and a master of coin with a knack for numbers and a good memory…” he looked at her sideways and sighed. “If I thought I could manage, I’d seat you on my council, cousin.”

Elaena blinked at him, opening her mouth in surprise. “Me?”

“Aye. But I think that my father’s supporters would immediately rise against me for placing a woman on the council.” He sighed. “More fool them. You’d be better at it than any of my father’s cronies.”

“You know that, and I know that,” Elaena said quickly, her heart beating fast. “So do it. Place me on your council, Daeron. I’ll serve you leally and well and you know it.”

Daeron seemed to sag even as she asked it. “I cannot open myself to any criticism—not yet. I’ve been away from court too long and you know that. You know that better than anyone.”

Elaena hung her head and closed her eyes.

“I’ll think of something,” Daeron said. “I shall still heed your counsel, regardless. You know that, cousin Elaena.”

“Yes,” Elaena said. And for the first time in years, she believed it.

* * *

 

Daeron filled his council thoughtfully and slowly, but each addition was a man of fine character, and Elaena approved of his choices, doing her best to keep her own bitterness from her thoughts that she could not sit in the small hall with her cousin and the other men. _Always women who are excluded,_ she thought. _It isn’t a woman’s place._ That was in Baelor’s voice. Or was it Daemon’s? He had started saying things like that because he thought it made him sound intelligent. More than once, he’d gotten into an argument about it with Daeron’s son Baelor about it, whose Dornish mother had allowed no space for such thoughts in her rearing of him.

 _A fine boy,_ Elaena thought. It felt a betrayal of Daena to prefer Baelor to Daemon. But Daemon was more Aegon’s by the day, bitter time and again that, though legitimized, he was behind his dark-haired cousin in the line for the throne.

“He looks Dornish,” she’d heard him say more than once to some of his friends. “He’s not a _true_ Targaryen. His father’s no more trueborn than I am, after all.”

“If you had the sense the gods gave a pea, you’d not say such things,” Elaena told him over lunch.

“It’s the truth. My father said so,” Daemon shrugged.

“What your father said is not always a good thing, or the right thing. Or had you forgotten your own betrothal,” Elaena pointed out.

Daemon frowned. He did not like to think on it. Aegon had promised him to the daughter of the Archon of Tyrosh, a great beauty named Rohanne as the end of his life had approached. Daemon did not want her. Daemon wanted Daenerys. “A true Targaryen marriage,” he’d been heard to say.

“I’d have thought he’d…” he said before his voice faded away. He looked at Elaena. “You don’t think Daeron will make me, do you?”

“It was his father’s will, as much as yours.”

“Yes, but he’s undoing much of father’s laws,” Daemon said eagerly.

“True,” Elaena conceded.

“Will you speak to him?” Daemon asked. There was hope in his eyes.

“You should. He is your brother.” If it were Jon, Daemon would have done it. Daemon and Jon had always gotten on well.

“Yes, but he’ll _listen_ to you. He’ll think I’m complaining like a child.”

“You are,” Elaena pointed out. Then she sighed. He had Daena’s eyes. _I can’t deny the boy anything—no more than Aegon could. Though he should wed the Tyroshi girl and not let himself be a pawn to Aegon’s irresponsibilities._

“Daemon does not wish to marry Rohanne of Tyrosh,” Elaena said to Daeron that afternoon, finding him in his solar. He was reading, as he had done when they’d been children and before he’d left the court.

“He wants Daenerys,” Daeron said, hardly sounding surprised.

“Yes,” Elaena said, sitting down opposite her cousin.

“And you think I should give her to him? After my father gave him Blackfyre, next I give him Aegon’s trueborn daughter?”

Elaena sighed. “I don’t know,” she said. She did not. She did not know what she wanted, and that made it all the more difficult.

“Nor do I,” Daeron agreed. “His legitimacy will always cause me trouble, but I cannot have him married to Daenerys. Why not the Tyroshi girl, then? Anyone else in the kingdoms will make him dangerous. You know this.”

“I do,” Elaena said.

“And you advocate for his happiness in your sister’s name?” Daeron said. Daeron knew her too well.

Elaena closed her eyes, and nodded.

“I cannot,” Daeron said. “I have already sent Lord Lefford to Tyrosh with the girl’s dowry.”

“Will you give Daenerys to Baelor, then?” Elaena asked.

Daeron thought for a moment. “I should,” he said. “It would secure him as my heir. But I’ve other plans for her.”

“Other plans?” Elaena asked quickly.

“Aye,” he said.

“What sorts of plans?” she demanded.

Daeron smiled. “My wife has long desired to visit her brother who now sits in Sunspear,” he said carefully, and Elaena raised her eyebrows.

“Oh really?”

“Yes,” he said. “And I rather think that Aerys and Rhaegel would profit from meeting their mother’s kin. I’d send Baelor, but I do not wish for my heir to be far from me at this time.”

“I see,” Elaena said slowly. “You have big dreams, cousin.”

“My father didn’t have a vision for the kingdoms. Baelor did, as did Daeron my namesake, but my father didn’t. I’ll not style myself after him. Both Baelor and Daeron wanted Dorne. I don’t see why I can’t finish what they started.”

Elaena smiled, and leaned back in her seat, mildly impressed. “I wish you luck with it, cousin.”

* * *

“Did you even try?” Daemon spat.

“I did,” Elaena said calmly.

“I don’t think you did.”

“You believe so ill of me?” Elaena asked quietly.

“You say you’re the closest thing that I have to a mother, and yet you’d never have let such a thing happened to Jon or Viserys. You _never_ let me have my way! You must have the last say on _everything!_ ”

“Daemon,” Elaena began, but he’d already stormed away.

* * *

Rohanne of Tyrosh was a pretty young thing with hair of a similar golden color to Elaena’s streak. She had an intelligent smile, and spoke the common tongue with only a little bit of an accent.

To his credit, Daemon tried not to look so bitter as he wrapped her in the cloak of his protection, and gave her a kiss. But he refused to look at Elaena during the entire ceremony, smiling instead at Jon and Jeyne, and his half-brother Aegor who had ridden south from Stonehedge for the wedding

Aegor was a serious boy of thirteen, who hardly ever seemed to smile except when he was in Daemon’s company. _How unlike his mother_ , Elaena thought, remembering Barba’s easy smile and the way she always seemed to laugh at people.

“Congratulations,” Elaena said to her nephew, kissing him on both cheeks at the feast.

“Thank you, aunt,” he said, stiffly.

“I hope you find happiness in your bride,” she said. He shifted and Elaena reached out a hand and took his shoulder. “I know you are wroth with me,” she said gently. “But know that I love you, and that your mother would be proud of you on this day.” She did not know if that was true. If anything, she suspected Daena would be wroth with her as well, but she did not dwell on that.

Daemon’s face softened and he gave her a quick hug. “I know,” he said. “I wish she could be here today.”

Before Elaena could respond, she heard Daeron say, “Daemon,” and her nephew stiffened again.

“Your grace,” he said through gritted teeth.

“I wish you well on this day,” he said. “It feels like so long ago that I was wed, and only seeing you wed now makes me feel my own years.” Elaena glanced at Daeron. She hadn’t been allowed to attend his wedding. She wondered if he was remembering that now too.

“Thank you, your grace,” Daemon sulked.

“On my wedding day, the king did nothing special to commemorate the day. On his deathbed, my father legitimized you and your brothers,” he nodded to Aegor, and then to Brynden who was seated far off with Elaena’s children, “but did nothing to provide for your inheritance. You are a prince of the blood, but have no hall to call your own. I would change that.”

Daemon’s eyebrows jerked up, and there was an audible gasp from several nearby guests who had overheard Daeron’s words. “Half a day’s ride along the Blackwater Rush, you’ll find a keep waiting for you. Blackwater Keep it’s called now, though you may rename it as you will.”

Daemon’s eyes danced between Daeron’s, his expression still surprised.

“Thank you, brother,” Daemon said at last.

“It is my pleasure…brother.”

* * *

“Please, Brynden! Please!” Viserys cried. Someday, perhaps, her son would learn that crying would not get him his way, but he’d yet to learn that.  _He is nearly ten_ , she sighed. Perhaps she’d doted on him too much. Perhaps it was time that he fostered away.  _The Westerlands,_ she thought.  _He’ll be a lord there. Already is._ “I  _want_ to!”

“Brynden,” Elaena called to her nephew. Had it been Daemon, eyes would have rolled and she would have been ignored, but instead, Aegon’s bastard took his cousin’s hand and said, “Come on, then.   You can be on my side.”

Viserys immediately stopped crying, and his face shone with delight as he followed Brynden across the godswood.

They were celebrating the name day of Shiera, Aegon’s daughter, and were playing a game of come into my castle. Some of the other children at court had already selected sides, and Shiera was giggling with little Aelinor Penrose, though the girl was several years her senior.

“It is a nice thing to see children at play,” said a voice, and Elaena glanced over her shoulder to find little Aelinor’s uncle standing at her side.

“Ser Ronnel,” she smiled. “It is indeed a great joy,” she agreed. “Have you children of your own?”

He shook his head. “No. My brother’s children are as close as I have at the moment. I’m not yet wed.”

Elaena nodded, smiling. “She seems a sweet thing,” she said, nodding her head towards Aelinor.

“She is,” Ronnel said promptly. “My brother has great hope that she will blossom at court.”

“And I assume you wish the same?” Elaena asked. He had a nice smile, with eyes that crinkled with warmth.

“What man wouldn’t wish his niece joy?” he asked genially.

 _Aegon_ , Elaena almost said, but she didn’t. Instead, she smiled and said, “Your family must be a happy one. Do you have many brothers and sisters yourself?”

“Two older brothers,” he said, “And me so far down the line that the best I can hope for is a keep in the Stormlands one day.”

“So you put it off by coming to court?” Elaena asked.

“Aye,” he said. “A true adventure.”

Elaena laughed. “We do like to keep our vassals well entertained,” she said. “It certainly makes for good stories.”

“Good stories?” Ronnel asked. “Stories are better than the truth?” It was a question like a dart that went right to her heart, and for a moment she was breathless.

“Aren’t they always, Lord Ronnel?”

“One could hope that the reverse was true,” he said gently. They heard a cry from the gathered children, and looked out over the godswood again. Elaena was used to being alone, she’d been that way for so long, but standing next to Ronnel, she had the strangest sensation that she wasn’t anymore.

* * *

Lord Ronnel had no sisters, nor even female cousins. Where Elaena’s youth had been spent almost exclusively in the presence of young women, Lord Ronnel’s had been spent almost exclusively in the presence of young men.

“You women are a mystery to me,” he said cheerily, “Which I’m sure my lord father thinks is for the best. Gods forbid there are too many Penroses running about causing one another trouble.”

Elaena snorted. “I wonder what _that_ must be like,” she sighed and he patted her arm.

“It’s different with kings,” Ronnel said sagely. “A king can always bestow land upon his excess sons and grandsons. A small lord from the Stormlands only has so many castles or else he’ll have to bleeding fight to get some more.”

Elaena did not see the point in correcting him. He was a warm man, and not unintelligent by any means, but he was woefully naïve in some ways. _Perhaps that is the luxury of men_ , she thought.

But in his innocence, there was something peaceful, and for the first time she understood what it might have been that Alyn had seen in the flat-chested girl she’d been. She felt a thousand years older than Ronnel, though he was her senior by three years. But she could forget all that as they watched her children and his nieces and nephews play. She could smile, and laugh, and it mattered not a whit that he didn’t understand _why_ it was that the crown taxed the westerlands and all its gold no more than the poorest parts of Dorne.

If anything, that made her like him more. He never seemed ashamed that she just seemed to know more than he did.

* * *

 

“You’ve yet to select a Master of Coin,” Elaena pointed out to Daeron one day.

“I know,” he said, voice clipped. “I’ve not forgotten, cousin.” He had been spending the past few months sorting out the corruption of the goldcloaks of King’s Landing.

“Do you need help selecting?” Elaena asked carefully.

Daeron glanced at her warily. “Who did you have in mind?” he asked her.

“Ronnel Penrose,” she said calmly. Daeron raised his eyebrows. Then he laughed.

“A fine jape, cousin,” he laughed. “Ronnel Penrose is a good man, but by all accounts can’t _keep_ accounts.  Had I not already selected a Master of Laws, I'd consider him for that for he is intelligent and honorable...”

Elaena smiled carefully. “I’d rather thought that he might find help with that.”

“My Master of Coin shouldn’t need _help_ , Elaena.”

“Perhaps from the right wife?” she asked, and Daeron stopped short and looked at her, eyes narrowed.

“Are you…?” he asked.

“If he’d have me,” she said. “He is nice enough, if not in line for his house.”

Daeron looked at her carefully, then said slowly. “If you can claim him, I’ll consider the post happily,” he said. If anything, he looked pleased at the prospect of her happiness. _He always was sweet to me_ , she thought. _He always listened to me and cared for me, and has never once been inconstant in that_.

Elaena smiled. “I think that should be possible,” she said.

* * *

“It must be a mistake!” Ronnel said, bursting into Elaena’s solar.

“What is it, my love?” Elaena asked, looking up from her book.

“The-the-the-your-the-King Daeron has asked me to be his Master of Coin,” her betrothed stammered. “To honor our upcoming vows he’d give me a seat on the council. It must be a mistake. He surely must know I’ve not a head for sums and…and…stags and dragons and pennies.”

“He means to honor you,” Elaena said gently. “I’d have thought you’d be pleased in that.”

“I am pleased he’d honor me, I just wish it was in a way that wasn’t dooming me to dishonor myself! Surely I shall bankrupt the realm!” Ronnel sat down and put his head in his hands.

“You didn’t refuse him, did you?” Elaena said sharply.

“No—no. I…He wouldn’t let me refuse. Elaena! Help me! You must say something. He’s your cousin and I’m…” Ronnel gulped.

“I doubt I could dissuade him,” Elaena lied. “He can be quite pigheaded.”

Ronnel let out a plaintive moan that sounded not unlike when she made Jon bathe. “You’d be better on the council than me. You’d make a fine master of coin. I shall be the worst there ever was.”

“No you shan’t,” Elaena said. “I won’t let you.”

He looked up at her, and blinked once or twice. “You won’t let me?” he said. Then a smile spread across his face. “You’ll _help?_ ”

“You didn’t think I’d let you bankrupt my cousin’s kingdom, did you? I’ve been wed before. I shall be yours and you shall be mine, and if you vow to honor and protect me…I must needs do the same, don’t you think.  And besides—you're a good man.  I'm sure your voice will be valued on the council.  A king's councillor does more than just count coppers.”

Relief washed over Ronnel’s face and he got to his feet again, bending down over Elaena and kissing her, his red whiskers scratching at her cheek. “A fine wife,” he said. “The very best of them, and not merely because she’s a princess.”

That made her smile.

_You see, Aegon? Some men know the worth of their wives._

* * *

 

She was wedded and bedded and this time, her husband did not die within her, and her lover did not abandon her for the seas. Elaena spent her days poring over parchment with a quill in hand, while Ronnel played with her children and advised the king as best he was able. Viserys seemed in awe of him, as though he hadn’t known that fathers could truly be a thing that could exist, and though Jeyne was wary of him at first, she came to smile at him and even sewed him a floral handkerchief that he carried with him in court. And Jon…

Jon was growing restive.

He was a boy, and old enough to know that he’d someday be a man. He would follow Daemon and Baelor to the practice courts, and he would be trained in arms, and for all he was a bastard of the royal blood, he never seemed content.

“They’re better than me,” he said huffily one night as Elaena went to tuck him into his blankets. She sat down on the bed next to him, wincing slightly at the way the mattress sank beneath her for her stomach was swollen with a child—her first truly trueborn child.

“They’re older,” she said gently.

“So?” demanded Jon. “Daemon won Blackfyre at twelve, and I’m not half so good as he was then. Everyone says so.”

“Well,” Elaena said, not sure how to answer. How did men judge such things? Was it with bodies as with minds that some were more fit for some tasks than others?

“Why couldn’t you have used a bow and arrow like Daena, mother?”

“A question I often ask myself,” Elaena said tritely. She bent to kiss her son’s face. “You are the son of Alyn Oakenfist, a great warrior in his own right. Perhaps your weapon is less the sword than an axe, or hammer. And what of it if Daemon is a more gifted warrior than you? He will never be better than Prince Aemon the Dragonknight. Be the best you can be, my love. No more, and no less.”

Jon huffed, and Elaena got to her feet again. She tried to remember what it had been like to be his age, but all she could remember was the tower.

* * *

Viserys wept openly as he climbed onto his horse.

“Cheer up, little man,” Jon said, coming over and resting a hand on his leg. “We’ll see you again.”

“But when?” Viserys blubbered, then he turned to look at Elaena. “Please, mother. Don’t send me away. I don’t want to go!”

Elaena sighed. “And I’d not see you go,” she said gently. “But you are the lord of House Plumm, and it is time you saw your lands, my love.”

“Please come with me,” Viserys begged.

“I wish I could,” Elaena said. She’d never left the city. And her heart ached at the sight of her son on his horse, knowing that she’d not be going with him. But to leave Ronnel without her help could bankrupt the realm. _And Viserys must go. He looks too much like Aegon._ “You must be brave, my love. This shall be a great adventure.”

“I don’t want an adventure,” Viserys sobbed. “I want you-ou-ouuuuu.” _And I want you safe, and alive, and as happy as you can be after those things._

“Come on, little lord,” said Ser Tallard, who had come east to accompany Viserys to his castle. “Think of home.”

“ _This_ is my home!” Viserys shouted.

Jon glanced at his mother, then at Ser Tallard, then clapped Viserys’ horse on the rear and the beast started to walk, his hooves clopping over the stones of the court, echoing alongside Viserys’ tears.

* * *

Daenerys was positively radiant on her wedding day, the picture of the perfect Targaryen Princess. Her hair was curled and covered in pearls and little red flowers, and Elaena even forwent her habitual black to wear a slightly more festive maroon.

“You do your mother proud,” Elaena told her niece, and Daenerys blushed prettily.

“Thank you, Cousin Elaena,” she said, and kissed Elaena’s cheek. “I wish to,” she said.

“I wish she could be here with you today,” Elaena said gently, taking her cousin’s hand and squeezing it. “How happy she’d be to see you so happy.”

Daenerys’ happiness was a most welcome surprise. Maron Martell had arrived from Sunspear a month before, and Daenerys had been positively smitten with him. The two frequently spent hours in the gardens together, and there seemed some new lightness to Daenerys that no one had expected. Least of all Daemon.

Her nephew was a thundercloud, and with every smile Daenerys bestowed unto her intended, Daemon’s rage grew blacker. More than once he’d ridden out of the Red Keep in the middle of the day and at high speed, not stopping until he reached his keep. Daemon didn’t want her happy, he wanted _her_. The only person he seemed able to talk to was Aegor Rivers, who seemed to encourage rather than discourage his behavior. And as if his anger was not sufficient for the festivities, he’d lost the tourney in Daenerys’ honor—Baelor had dumped him from his horse in the final tilt and Daemon had been livid.

She would stand with him today when Daenerys said her vows. _I should say something. To ease him,_ Elaena thought. _To temper the anger that Aegor seems intent on fanning. But what?_ What would soothe her nephew? Daena would have known. Or perhaps Rhaena. Rhaena had always been better at soothing tempers than Daena.

Elaena felt old, suddenly. _Not yet forty,_ she reminded herself. But old nonetheless. She’d lived nearly twice as long as Baelor, and Daeron, and Daena. _They all died so young_ , she thought. Daeron was…why, Daeron had been Daemon’s age when he’d died in Dorne. And now his niece was to wed the Martell prince, and there would be peace at last. How strange to be the one remaining, when she’d hardly been a twig of a girl?

“I’m glad you’re here with me today, cousin Elaena,” Daenerys said quietly, dipping her eyes meaningfully.

Elaena cupped her niece’s cheek. She was a pretty young thing. She loved songs and dancing and playing games. She’d never been one for books, nor prayers, nor bows and arrows. “I’m glad too,” Elaena said. She took the girl’s hand, then the two of them left for the sept.

* * *

“Baelor, your work is done,” Daeron announced to the gathered crowd and thunderous applause filled the square before his great sept. Elaena clapped too, but she rolled her eyes for a moment.  _What work of this was Baelor’s? It was Rhaenys who first went to Dorne, and Daeron who conquered it._ She did not clap for Baelor. She would not clap for Baelor.


	6. Chapter 6

Elaena was reading through accounts when she heard it through the open window, a quiet tinkling of strings being plucked. Daeron must have found himself a new singer to entertain him in the gardens, now that winter was ending and the spring flowers were blooming. Mariah loved singers, and he hired every single one he could find to please her.

She smiled, though it was more an exercise of the lips than of the heart. To love so sweetly and so well…she was fond of Ronnel’s steadiness, and found joy in her work and her children, but she could not imagine him hiring singers for her. Alyn might have, but he hadn’t. She wasn’t even sure that she would have wanted them when she loved Alyn. Perhaps she was growing sentimental as she grew older.

She shifted in her seat, trying to get more comfortable. She was pregnant again, and her stomach was great enough now that there was no comfort in sitting. Perhaps, at last, she’d give Ronnel a boy. This one certainly felt big the way that Viserys had.

The music kept tinkling in her ears and after a time she put her quill down and, after debating for a moment, pulled herself to her feet and went to the window to look down into the gardens. To her surprise, she did not see Daeron, or Mariah, or any of the children who spent all their time outdoors now that the days were growing longer. She did, however, see Ser Michael Manwoody, his fingers dancing over the silver strings of a harp.

She had not known that he played.

She’d have thought she might have heard something of it, for she made it her business to know everything about everyone of import, and as a guest of Mariah’s and a friend to Prince Maron, he was someone of import. She knew that Ser Michael had studied at the citadel for a time as a boy, and Daeron had made noises about putting him on the small council one day when a seat opened up. He had dancing eyes, and a pointed beard on his chin and was young enough to marry Jeyne and be a good husband to her. Ronnel had thought of broaching the subject, for the Dornish could be more lenient than others about bastards. _Young enough to be my son_ , she thought as she watched his fingers pluck at the strings, his laughing eyes intent in a way that Elaena had not expected and which made her feel…

Being young had been dark for Elaena—closed doors and dark minds and everyone dying too soon.

But as Michael played, Elaena could pretend.

* * *

 

Elaena came out of her solar to hear laughter and shrieks and saw Jeyne and Robin running around the room together, chasing Laena and Jocelyn while Joy crawled about on the floor.

“What is going on here?” she asked, raising her eyebrows, and the three girls spun and dipped into curtseys.

“Hello mother,” they chorused at her, and Elaena feels a chill run up her spine. There was a brightness to their eyes, a happiness, a freedom that she had not known when she’d been young. She looked at Jeyne.

“Laena and Joss stole my hairbrush,” she said in fake affront, while the two designated girls giggled. “Robin offered to help me get it back, but they are sneaky.” Joss and Laena giggled.

“Is this true?” Elaena asked, turning her attention to them.

“No,” Joss said at the same time that Laena said, “Yes. Sorry mother.”

Elaena shook her head, bemused. “Be careful of the baby,” she said and went back into her solar and Ronnel’s accounts. A few minutes later she heard shrieking and giggling again.

She paused, and closed her eyes, and breathed, and tried to remember playing with Daena and Rhaena that way, but she couldn’t.

It hurt her more than it should. How many years had it been since she’d been locked away, since she’d been freed again, and still some little thing would come and make it hurt as though she were still there. Aegon’s threats, or her girl’s laughter—good or ill. Everything reminded her of her childhood, and the pain of being forced to be small. She glared at the window, as if Baelor were on the other side of it. _You did this to me_ , she thought bitterly. _This is your fault._

It didn’t make her feel better to think that.

Instead, she looked back at her quillpen. At least her girls would know freedom. At least they would look back on their youths and remember smiles, and brothers and parents who loved them and knew that love didn’t mean putting them in a cage.

* * *

“My love,” Ronnel said to her one night as they lay abed, the candles blown out and a spring breeze crossing through the curtain. “It is time that Jeyne weds, don’t you think?”

Her sweet Jeyne, her eldest girl…part of her wanted Jeyne to remain a girl forever, to never have to wed, to do whatever it was that she wished.

“Has someone approached you?” she asked quietly.

“Benedict,” Ronnel said, speaking of his brother, Aelinor’s father. “He thinks that he could find her a good marriage.”  

“Better than Aelinor and Aerys?” Elaena asked, dryly. Benedict was already angling that his daughter marry Daeron’s second son.

“His wife was a younger daughter of the late Lord Arryn," Ronnel said slowly.  Wed for love.  She remembered Ronnel telling her that.  The one thing he and Benedict had in common.  "Gwyn hopes that marrying Jeyne in the Vale will strengthen her brother's rule there,” he said.

“Who did she have in mind?  Surely Lord Arryn won’t allow for his son to wed a bastard, even if she’s a…” Elaena’s voice trailed away.  It felt odd, surely.  To hear Ronnel speak of Benedict and Gwyn, they hardly thought of the Vale at all.  Unless her brother had hoped should Aerys marry Aelinor, such a marriage would be a benefit, but why would he... Rhaena was serving as a septa to Lord Arryn’s household.  Surely Rhaena had not put the thought in his head.  Rhaena would not be so ambitious, not now that she'd given up name and family for vows to the Seven above...

Her heart twisted as she imagined her daughter and Rhaena sitting together. Jeyne was a fiery girl, more like Daena than Rhaena, but still gentle. Rhaena had never known any of Elaena’s children.

“Benedict says he would try—if you would speak on Aelinor’s behalf.”

Elaena closed her eyes. Was this how she’d been sold to Ossifer? She doubted Aegon had been half so thoughtful.

“I shall try,” she said quietly, then turned and pressed her face into her pillow.

* * *

Elaena waited in the bailey, watching as streams of blue-cloaked knights from the Eyrie arrived to escort Ser Denys Arryn to King’s Landing and his bride. She scanned the face of every person streaming through the gates, hoping, hoping…

Tears filled her eyes, and she blinked furiously. Rhaena wore a simple habit, and a wimple over her silvery blonde hair, but she smiled at Elaena when she saw her, and as Ser Denys dismounted and bowed to her, announcing greeting and promising that he would cherish her eldest daughter, Elaena’s heart pounded in her chest. She’d never been so grateful for Ronnel’s affability as she was when he spoke to Ser Denys, asking him if his travels had been smooth, and introducing him to his step-daughter. Jeyne was smiling nervously, and Ser Denys seemed pleased at the sight of her.

“Princess,” Septa Rhaena said, dipping into a curtsey. Elaena threw her arms around her sister and held her as tightly as she could, and breathed hard. She’d never hugged Rhaena as much as Daena when she’d been a girl, but Rhaena’s arms around her…gods. She was growing sentimental in her old age.

“Septa,” she said gently. She stepped back, blinking back tears. “You are happy?” she asked.

Rhaena beamed at her, and pressed a hand to her cheek, and she glanced over at Ser Denys, who was smiling modestly. There was a kind gleam to his eyes. _She helped raise him_ , Elaena thought. _He is happy for her to be here with me. She must have wanted to see me. She must have._

She took her sister’s hand, and stepped a little closer to Ser Denys and said, “Welcome to the Red Keep, Ser Denys.”

She and Rhaena talked all afternoon, and well into the night. It felt as though every thought Elaena had ever had poured out of her mouth to her sister—Daena’s last moments, Daemon’s bitterness, Aegor’s constantly goading his frustration, Daeron and his children, that her girls were happy, that she missed Viserys, that Jon was everything his father would have wanted him to be.

And Rhaena listened, a look of gentle love on her face, murmuring happily about how the gods had willed her happiness. “They would not have made you suffer so if they did not will you to be happy,” she said. Elaena didn’t believe that, but she didn’t say as much to her sister. Instead, she kept talking, and when she was done, she asked Rhaena about the Vale, about Denys Arryn who would wed her daughter, about the world outside of King’s Landing, which Elaena had never left.

“He is a good man,” Rhaena said of Denys.

“I should hope so, if you helped raise him,” Elaena said earnestly.

“I tried…” Rhaena said. “I tried…to make him the sort of man that both Baelor and Daena would have respected.”

Elaena almost laughed. “Such a man can exist?” she asked incredulously.

“No.” Rhaena said calmly. “He cannot. I said I tried. I didn’t succeed.”

“Who would prefer him? Daena or Baelor?”

Rhaena smiled at her. “I think…I think you’d prefer him.”

“A good thing for a mother to hear before her daughter’s to wed this boy,” Elaena said.

Rhaena smiled modestly. “I don’t say it to please you. I say it in all truth. I think you would like Denys.”

“If you say it, I believe it,” Elaena said.

* * *

With Jeyne wed, and gone to the Vale, Elaena turned to Jon. “You don’t wish to wed?” she asked him. It would be harder to find him a bride, for he had no land to offer. Perhaps she could prevail on Daeron to give him a keep of some sort, but she thought that might be unlikely. Daeron kept a close eye on Daemon these days, and Daemon would undoubtedly take it ill if Jon were to get the same amount of land as he had from the king, even if he did love Jon well.

Jon frowned. “I’d not thought on it, in truth,” he said slowly. “I’d…I’d thought to join the Kingsguard one day.”

She smiled at her son, proud of his ambition, but the smile turned sour as Jon said. “Not that I’m a good enough warrior. I’ve not even been knighted yet.” The old struggle, the old sense of inferiority.

“You will be,” she said gently.

“Daemon was knighted at twelve.”

“And you are not Daemon,” she said again. _Thank the gods._ Were her son half so moody as Daena’s…but her son was happy, or at least, happier than her nephew.

He sat silently for a while, then looked at his hands. “I suppose I’d wed,” he said. “But I would have to choose the lady. I could not have you choose for me.” Elaena raised her eyebrows at him, and he added quickly. “It would be like if you asked Ronnel to knight me. It would not feel the same as if I’d earned it on my own. My father was called Oakenfist. That name didn’t come without due reason.”

Elaena sighed. “You’re as stubborn as he was, you know,” she said. A grin flickered across Jon’s face.

* * *

“Cousin Elaena,” Brynden called to her and gestured her towards a sconce where he was leaning. He was a thin boy, and so pale. His hair was paler even than Elaena’s, and his strange birthmark reminded her almost of her streak.

“Yes?” she asked, her voice quietly.

“Aegor,” he began, and Elaena raised a hand.

“I’ll not get in the middle of your arguments,” she said firmly. Aegor was Daemon’s friend, for all he was somewhat insufferable. “He is your brother. Make peace with him.”

“That’s not what I wanted to talk to you about,” Brynden said, fixing his red eyes on Elaena.

She inclined his head, and he continued. “I’ve…heard that he is goading Daemon to pursue the crown in his own right.”

Elaena stiffened. “Heard where?” she hissed.

“Heard,” Brynden said. “There are…whispers.”

“I cannot go to the king with whispers.”

“They are whispers,” Brynden repeated firmly. “And were I you I’d not go to the king. Not yet.”

“Daemon?”

“You know him best,” Brynden said. Elaena glanced down the corridor.

“This stays between us,” she commanded.

Brynden inclined his head. “Naturally.”

“Not even Shiera,” she said.

Brynden’s face twitched, and Elaena rolled her eyes and they said together. “She already knows.”

“Of course she does,” Elaena said. “Keep her mouth shut.”

“She’ll not speak,” Brynden said.

“She’d best not,” Elaena said, and she strode away, truly nervous for the first time in a long time.

* * *

 

Daemon did not respond to her letter to him, and he did not come to visit the court from his keep. Aegor rode back and forth to Daemon's keep alongside Quentyn Ball, and if he knew that she had written to Daemon, it did not affect the courtesy with which he spoke to her, when he spoke to her. Elaena waited.

Elaena hated waiting.

She said nothing to Daeron, and watched Brynden like a hawk, wondering if her smooth-faced cousin would tell her more if he learned more. She couldn’t tell. He had played with her children, but he was unreadable, and she’d never known him as well as her other cousins.

She waited, trying to distract herself in the joy surrounding Jon’s receiving his spurs at long last, or her girls who were happy and healthy, or letters from Viserys who seemed to be thriving in the west, and wondered and hoped that nothing ill would come to pass. If she believed in the gods, she’d have prayed.

But she didn’t. She couldn’t. Praying hadn’t made Baelor heed her words, so she didn’t see why it would be different with Daemon.

* * *

The news came in a letter in Jeyne’s hand.

_My dear mother, I am so sorry to write to you under such circumstances. Septa Rhaena, your sister, is dead. She passed three days past after catching a chill descending from the Eyrie to the Bloody Gate for the winter. Denys is bereft and I am greatly saddened, for I have grown quite fond of my aunt who reminded me so of you…_

There were other words on the page. Elaena would read them later. Instead she placed the letter on the table and went down into the bailey and stared at the tower.

Someday, there would be no one there who remembered what that place had been. Daena and Rhaena were both gone. The Bracken sisters, and Missy Blackwood, and all the ladies that Baelor had sent to keep them company never truly understood. Naerys was gone, as were Aemon and Aegon. Mariah, and her, and Daeron. That was all that remained, and soon they would be gone too and only the tower would remain.

The tower, and Baelor’s great sept. _They’ll not remember how much it hurts still_ , Elaena thought. _And even Mariah and Daeron do not know. It’s just me now. Just me now that Rhaena is gone._

Part of her wanted to yell. Part of her wanted to weep. But she did neither thing. She just stared at the tower and wished she could tear it down, stone by stone.

* * *

“I want to come with you, mother.” Elaena turned and saw Jon standing there. He wore light leather armor and his face was serious.

“I’ll be safe,” she said. The road to Daemon’s keep was hardly a dangerous one, and if the rumors were true, she would be safer than Jon would be.

“Mother,” Jon said, and he lowered his voice and stepped towards her. “Please. I know that you will be safe, but I will still worry.” She sighed. He was tall, her son, and strong, and brave. Nothing ill would befall her if he came, not that anything would anyway.

“Very well,” she said, and he mounted the horse he’d brought with him, and the two of them were off.

It was a quiet ride to Blackfyre Keep, and birds chirped overhead as they rode, and Elaena idly mused that this was the first time she’d ever left King’s Landing. Springtime. _War is easier in spring than in winter_ , Elaena thought. She prayed that the news that Ronnel had brought back from the council wasn’t true.

“Do you think you’ll be able to dissuade him, mother?” Jon asked after they’d been riding for a time.

“It depends on his humor, I imagine,” she said. Jon grimaced. He’d known that as well. “We’ll know soon enough.”

“Who goes there?” A guard called down from the curtain wall.

“I’m his aunt,” Elaena called back, “And this is my son, his cousin.”

They watched as the guard confers with another guard, and then the gate swung open and the two of them rode in. Elaena dismounted and handed her reins to a stableboy.

“Aunt.” Daemon’s voice was high, and musical, and very like his father’s as he came out of the keep, Aegor waiting in the doorway behind him. His face was unreadable. “Jon,” he added, nodding to his cousin. “Have you come to my cause?”

“I’ve come for lunch,” Elaena said. “It’s been too long since I’ve seen your face at court, nephew.” Daemon looked at her.

“But have you come to my cause, aunt?” He was not moving.

“It’s true then?” Elaena asked quietly. His men were watching them. Aegor was watching them. She did not like it. She wished they were inside, in a solar, or even in the stables, but they stood in the bailey of the castle that Daeron had given him. And mostly, she wished that Aegor were not there.

“My father wished that I would succeed him in the stead of Prince Aemon’s bastard,” Daemon said calmly. “You know this. I know this. Even my mother wanted it. Who am I to deny the will of my parents?”

“Your father was negligent and your mother died far too young to know what was best,” Elaena said.

“I think you say that because you prefer not to think that this is what she wanted,” Daemon said, his voice still calm. “You prefer not to think that your sister would be disappointed in you and who you have chosen to support.”

His words hit home, but Elaena would not let him know it. He was not Baelor, or Aegon to end her words with his own. He was a boy. She’d raised him. “It would be nice if that were the case,” Elaena said calmly. “My sister would not be disappointed in me, I can assure you. She’d be disappointed in you.”

“Daena the Defiant? Disappointed in her son who defies the crown for what is right? I think not, aunt. And what’s worse is you do not think it either. You just like having your way.”

“As do you.” Elaena kept her voice mild, as mild as she could. She would not lose face before him.

“As I’ve said,” Daemon said, “It is not my will. It is the king’s will.”

“The king gave you these lands,” Elaena said calmly. “He has worked hard for peace and prosperity in these lands.”

“And I appreciate his service to my crown. He’d make a fine hand,” Daemon shrugged. “But the realm is mine. Do not deny it, aunt.”

“I do,” Elaena said. “With every breath in my body, I do.”

Daemon gave her a queer look. “Then we’ve nothing more to discuss, aunt Elaena.”

“Daemon—”

But he shook his head. “It pains me. You are like a mother to me.”

“Then listen to me,” Elaena said—begged. This was Daena’s boy. If he rode to war, she did not doubt that he would die. “I love you as if you were a child of my own body, Daemon.”

But Daemon shook his head. “No. No you don’t. You are not my mother, aunt Elaena. I love you dearly, but I like you more when I remember that. Nor is Jon my brother, though I care for him,” he added, nodding to Jon, who stiffened.

“Do not do this, Daemon.”

But Daemon shook his head. He turned, and went into the castle.

Elaena knew even as she turned towards Jon back to their horses that this would be the last time she would see him. _Daena’s boy,_ she thought as she mounted. _My nephew._

It was her way or his and Elaena had sworn years and years before that she would have her way.

* * *

* * *

* * *

** Epilogue **

The bells rang dolefully as Elaena walked through the city. They had rung like this for her father, for her brothers, for Aegon. They had not rung like this for Daena, or for Alyn and Ossifer, or for Ronnel when he had passed. They certainly hadn’t rung for Daemon after the Redgrass Field. They had rung for Baelor, Daeron’s heir, when he had been brought back from the tourney at Ashford, and now they rung now for Daeron.

Elaena walked steadily. Her knees were stiff, and she kept her hand on Michael’s arm. Her young husband walked slowly at her side, and her girls behind her, their eyes on their cousin Aelinor, who walked at Aerys’ side and who was now queen in all but name.

Elaena breathed deeply, and looked around the city, noticing the way that children hung out of windows to watch the procession. Men and women lined the streets, paying homage to Daeron the Good as they bore his bier to Baelor’s great sept.

 _It’s just me, now_ , she thought. Her girls were too young to know, and Michael was as well. _I outlived them all._ She felt healthy. She wondered how many more years in her life remained her. How many more kings she’d see crowned. She wondered, idly, if Aerys would keep Michael on his council, or if he’d replace his master of coin, and Elaena would no longer hold any power over the realm. She found she didn’t care.

They passed a statue of Baelor as they approached the sept, but Elaena did not look at it. Throughout the service, she listened to the High Septon speaking of Daeron’s goodness, how he was nearly as good a king as beloved Baelor. _Better_ , she thought bitterly. And when they lit the funeral pyre to burn him, Elaena did not weep. _Farewell, old friend_ , she thought as she watched her cousin burn. _Farewell book supplier and confidant. Thank you for having faith in me._

At the end of the service, she took Michael’s arm again, and he kissed her cheek. “What’s next, my love?” he asked her quietly.

“I’m sure the gods will give us something to do,” Elaena shrugged. “They always do.”


End file.
